#azog x reader

[shirefantasies]

This is gonna be a weird one..

Azog and a human reader?

It can be smut or fluff.

Not weird, I like the challenge 😎 This is a fascinating concept to me I love human x non-human (as long as it’s still humanoid, I’m not a furry 😂) I’m sorry I don’t think this is very good though 😅😆 hope you still can enjoy!

Chains of Flesh- Azog the Defiler x Human!Reader

Warnings: minor language, implied past abuse

You had to be a liability. You suspected that from the moment they took you. That you could not fight well must mean little more than ill in your favor. Fighting was the last thing on your mind anyway as your body, consciousness fading fast, was slung onto the sloped back of a warg like a doll. You had fought enough in your days. Such was your last memory before you awoke.

Vines crept up stone walls. You had no memory of that place, no recognition as you clambered up from the battered cot frame. There was a haze in the air, a feeling like an unseen fog had drifted somehow inside and survived even the torch burning on a bent sconce outside the rusty bars. A prison cell?

Shuffling to the edge of the bars- though you dared not touch their jagged, soiled edges- availed you a greater view of your surroundings. A stone fortress of some kind, desolate and abandoned as it was, one hung with tight cages skeletons swung in. Clearly you didn’t have it so bad.

But why? What set you apart from men deemed little more than beasts? Greater importance or so stark a lack of threat?

Pounding footsteps had you straightening, stepping back again from the bars as boots echoed upon stone. Soon a pair of orcs stood before you and the first one, tall, dark, and broad, spoke slowly and intensely. His tongue was unknown to you, yet you knew it was the Black Speech; vile as it was said to be, the sound of it fascinated you.

The second, a shorter, leaner figure with scarred tan skin and an empty socket where his left eye once was, hissed in a quicker voice to you. “Information. You have it. Azog will deal with you.”

You’d heard that name before. Azog the Defiler was the sworn enemy of that dwarf named king, the one who’d brought destruction and strife to the town you unfortunately had called home. The bastard that called himself Mayor needed only one word of the riches beneath the mountain to change his tune completely on letting the town burn. If they wanted dirt on that villain and his filthy underling, they could have it and gladly.

The bars were wrest open and your upper arms seized by a leering orc on either side. Tempted as you were to smack the looks off their faces, you knew that would be a death sentence; instead, you bid them drag you up spiraling steps and toss you humiliatingly at the boots of the Pale Orc. His lip curled at the pair of underlings, then he looked at you with interest crossing his carved features. More Black Speech in a deep, richly imposing voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Tell us everything you know about the mountain,” the one translating demanded, “and tell us fast if you know what's good for you." Just to hammer his point in further, he pointed a quite redundant blade at your chest.

Even though it spiked your heart rate, you couldn't help rolling your eyes- you had yet to do anything but comply. Stepping forward as far as you could without impaling yourself, you ignored the faint pressure that jabbed you and spoke.

"They are only granted reentry on the one day. The one who calls himself king has the key. First priority goes to the main treasure room where the dragon is keeping his prize. After that, they reclaim the kingdom. It sounded like there were lower entries that may be blocked, so they have to go in right by where the dragon is, but I could be wrong.”

For what seemed like far longer than it had taken you, the shorter orc relayed his message to the Defiler, whose piercing blue gaze kept sliding to you. Azog spoke back as his eyes practically bore holes in your head, giving some command that sparked shock across the tan orc’s face.

“You show great promise and you seem like good fun… someone like you could be the perfect addition. A spy, even, too if you swear to us. What say you?” He bared his teeth as he spoke, rows of sharp, dark points. From behind him, Azog smiled, a look of smug curiosity that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t exactly want to find out what their methods were at answering denial, and besides… something told you they were not opposed to letting Laketown fall. And, if you were lucky, taking the men who mistreated you down with it. Swallowing, you shakily mirrored their dark smiles. “I’ll do it. I have enemies at the foot of the mountain. Lay waste to them.”

The tan orc spoke again. Moonlight shone upon them both. In one sudden motion the Pale Orc took hold of your arm in his one flesh hand, wrest it such that you were pulled into him. Somehow, though, he’d done it without hurting you. Pressed against him as you were, you may have been trapped, but as you felt the rapid beat of his large heart against the back of your head all you could feel was a rush. Azog’s hand ran up and down your arm.

The shorter, darker servant tilted his head. “Those Laketown scum have not been kind to you, have they?”

Heartbeat still thrumming against you, you just shook your head. Warmth coursed through your body. Azog’s metal hand traced gently along the curve of your neck, scratching the skin lightly. It brought a gasp to your lips, the cold sensation of metal upon skin. As soon as the air left you, though, he stopped.

He stopped. Let go slightly. Something Alfrid never would have done if you hadn’t punched him so hard he saw-

“Swear your allegiance to us, then,” Azog’s servant demanded with a grin, his harsh voice cutting through the stab of memories that had your chest heaving.

Shakily, you inhaled, breathing in time with the one who held you close. “What will you have me do?”

“Let the Pale Orc decide that. He’s the one who wants you,” he chuckled, smacking the shoulder of the taller, broader servant as they stomped away toward the door they’d hauled you through.

Only when they disappeared, door slamming at their backs, did Azog loosen his hold upon you all the way, fully releasing his chains of flesh as he watched you step back. He could have broken your neck, kept you at blade’s edge, but instead he just peered at you like a rare treasure he dare not break, lest his time of admiration then cease. You weren’t used to such a look- did he…?

“I am not the strongest servant you could have. But I think you know that, do you not? What is it you want? Is it my hate? I am tired of being downtrodden!” Your voice raised with each word, but you didn’t care. “I will fight to live, but only if I can do so with my dignity. What is it you want from me?”

Smiling again in that way that tingled your spine, the Pale Orc stepped forward once more to meet you, reaching out his hand. At first you flinched back, but heaving another breath you steeled your body and met his eyes again. No fear. If allegiance they desired, with courage you would offer it.

To your surprise, all the motion brought you was a new rush of warmth as he took hold of your cheek, thumb tracing the outline of the bone therein thoughtfully. His blue eyes glanced up, searched yours, and your heart lurched.

Why you could not say, perhaps the relief that flooded your very heart and soul at the question in his eyes, the chilling stab to your chest of realization that an orc could possess better manner than men, the sheer desire you felt to seal the waste of the place that harmed you so, but you found yourself nodding.

Moonlight shone off of that infamous glistening white skin, illuminating every scar carved deeply into its tone. Surprise colored Azog’s scarred face, then triumph once more as he surged forward. His lips were rough and you could feel the cut of his scars upon them as they moved to dominate yours. Fighting back, you found your own lips moving faster, your own stance straightening, though you dared not move your hands or loosen the Pale Orc’s grip upon your cheek. Best not have him changing his mind, after all.

Moments of warmth and shocking passion passed before Azog pulled away, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head. Keeping your foreheads pressed together, he gazed intently once more into your eyes.

You understood. From the high towers of his smote-out ruins the Pale Orc had sought one not just to do his will, but to stand at his side.

Now all you needed to do was pass the test.

[daddy-issues-99]

Would anyone be complaining if I did an Azog the defiler fanfic 🙄😳 I'm probably gonna do it anyway just wanna see who my audience is-

(Prolly gonna be smut ngl)

[cassiartblog]

Can someone write an Azog x reader story where the reader is a creature like a Tiefling and is with Thorin and the other dwarves while wandering to the mountain and when Thorin saw that Azog isn't death and they fight (first Movie ig) Azog sees the reader and falls in love with them. Then he kidnappes them while the dwarves asleep and he tries to be as friendly as possible to them and hope they would fall in love with them to. And maybe they do? Pls I need that

[greenandsorrow]

MASTERPOST || HELLO MY OLD HEART (ongoing)

Pairing; mainly Thorin Oakenshield x fem!faerie!reader

Warnings; fighting scenes, descriptions of injuries, death & loss, sexual undertones at times, middle earth magic, angst & hurt, mean!reader, selfish!reader, immortal!reader, reader with fem anatomy, a not sugarcoated Thorin, I have read the Silmarillion and you should too

Summary; Thorin & company set out to reclaim the kingdom of Erebor from the claws of the cunning Smaug. On their way out of Hobbiton they come across something peculiar. Faeries in Middle Earth have gone extinct, but you have managed to survive against all odds. Your unique beauty and mischievous but still kind character captures the king's heart. His suspicions towards your magic will soon be replaced with a deep love for the real you. Are you ready to go on an adventure?

Author's note; I love the Hobbit. I have some issues with the movie adaptation but that hasn't stopped me from rewatching it relentlessly. The book is like a blanket of comfort to me and I've been smitten with the fictional character of Thorin for too long 🥹

You can ask to be added to this fic's taglist!

THE HOBBIT

An unexpected journey

soon

The desolation of Smaug

Battle of the five armies

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My masterlist

Resources-> @saradika-graphics, @xxbimbobunnyxx, @yeritos, my shifting script from 2022

Tag list-> @concernedcrisis @mrsdurin @meluiloth @fizzyxcustard @shinyshayminflower @how-dare-you @marsmallow433

DO NOT COPY, DO NOT REPOST, DO NOT USE ON ANY AI PLATFORMS EITHER.

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin: The Complete Edition

Chapters 15 & 16

Y/N doesn't know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince-but she does know one thing: she's carrying his child.

Updated weekly, or read the full version here

Chapter 15: Broken Crown

so crawl on my belly ‘til the sun goes down, i’ll never wear your broken crown. i can take the road, and i can fuck it all away—but in this twilight, our choices seal our fate.

-Broken Crown, Mumford and Sons

The commotion on the rampart grows louder as you rush up the stairs, going as fast as your diminished stamina lets you. You arrive at the top with a gasping breath, seeing Thorin already holding Bilbo atop the wall, staring down at Gandalf approaching from the gathered troops.

“If you don’t like my burglar, please, don’t damage him!” he booms. “Return him to me.”

God bless that wizard, you think to yourself. God bless that fucking wizard and his timing.

“You’re not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?” Gandalf observes.

Thorin looks at him for another moment before letting Bilbo slip from his grasp. Balin and Fíli help him to his feet. The hobbit flings a rope over the wall, Bofur pushing him forward urgently, and scurries down.

“Never again will I have dealings with wizards,” Thorin shouts. “Or Shire-rats!”

You flinch at the venom in his words. Thorin’s eyes find you lurking by the wall. “What?” he demands, storming forward. “Do you have something to say?”

He’s nose-to-nose with you, daring you to defy him. You search his face, hardly recognizing the dwarf who begrudgingly accepted you into his Company, who shielded you from fire and wargs, who welcomed you into his family.

“This is wrong,” you whisper. “This isn’t you.”

Thorin is silent for a moment. “Then go,” he spits. “Go join your kin amongst Men. You are no Durin.”

Though you know his mind is twisted by the dragon-sickness, it doesn’t soften the blow against your heart. The other dwarves look at you in dismay.

After a moment, your face hardens, and you stand tall, standing exactly level with Thorin. “Fuck this,” you say quietly, pushing past him, rougher than necessary, towards the rope. “I’m not dying over a fucking rock.”

He sneers at you and turns on his heel to storm back into the keep. The dwarves pat your arm firmly as they pass, Balin squeezing your shoulders. “Be careful,” he murmurs.

Fíli and Kíli stay put, looking at you helplessly. Kíli grips Fíli’s arm. “Fíli…”

Fíli turns to his brother. They stare at one another wordlessly, then he grabs Kíli’s hair and pulls their foreheads together, whispering something in Khuzdûl.

Kíli nods, pulls back, and wraps you in a tight hug. “Be safe, little sister.” He withdraws and starts down the stairs, turning back one last time before vanishing.

It’s just you and Fíli on the wall now, watching the backs of Thranduil and Bard’s troops as they make for their camp. Tiny flakes of snow speckle Fíli’s armor, and his breath billows out in frosty clouds.

“Now what?” he asks.

Your mind whirls. In the book, the Durin clan dies standing together. In the movies, they die standing alone. I don’t know if I can save them all, you think, but I know I can save one.

“Come with me,” you urge, grabbing Fíli’s arm.

He tenses. “Y/N, I… I can’t just leave him… I’m his heir, the crown prince—it’d be the highest betrayal!”

You lean in close. “He’ll forgive you for leaving,” you whisper in his ear, voice trembling. “But I won’t forgive you for staying.”

“He’s family,” Fíli pleads.

Your heart twists in your chest, but you know you need to hit him where it hurts. You seize his hand and put it to your belly. “We are family too,” you insist. “Please, don’t leave me to raise our baby alone.”

Still, he hesitates.

One final weapon. “Fíli. If you stay, you die.”

Fíli’s eyes widen. “You said you’d never tell us our fates—you wouldn’t change the story!”

Your hold on his wrist tightens to a death grip. “I’m tired of pretending like I’m not part of this world,” you hiss. “I’m done acting like I’m not part of the story. I’m not going to let you die here, Fee.”

A look of anguish crosses his face. Your vision starts to swim with tears as Fíli looks from you, to the rope, to the doorway Thorin had stormed through, to your stomach. The anguish hardens to resolve, and he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says with a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright.” He shifts his belt so his sword is along his back and wraps an arm tightly around your waist, hoisting you onto his hip. “Hold on tight,” he grunts.

You cling to his neck and he grabs the rope, throwing a leg over the wall and slowly belaying down. Heights don’t normally bother you, but you bury your face in his shoulder, unable to look at the ground far beneath you. Your bag sways and bumps against your back with each of Fíli’s bounces downward. The descent lasts far too long, but at last you feel solid earth beneath your feet.

No sooner than you land does a hand seize your collar and pull you into the shadow of the wall. “What are you doing out here?” a voice hisses in your ear.

Tauriel! “I thought you were dead!” you choke out.

She releases you and Fíli, who grabs your upper arm tightly, ready to flee. Tauriel looks down at you grimly. “It will take more than dragon-fire to put an elf of Mirkwood down.” Her eyes shift to Fíli. “So, you abandon your kin, dorn?” [dwarf]

Fíli bristles, but you place a hand on his chest and push him behind you gently. “We need to get somewhere safe. Can you help us?”

Tauriel regards the pair of you with a measured gaze. “Is Kí—is your brother safe?”

Fíli nods, and Tauriel visibly relaxes. She looks back up at Erebor, then across the field in the distance where the white top of Thranduil’s tent is just barely visible in the quickly fading light. “Follow me. Quietly now, and swiftly.”

You make your way across the frozen ground until you come to a halt in front of a pair of elven guards. They seem astonished to find Tauriel standing before them, intact, if a bit charred. Nevertheless, they cross their spears to block your path. “Daro!” they cry in unison. [Stop!]

“We seek an audience with the king,” Tauriel explains.

“The king has no interest in communing with traitors,” one snaps. “Perhaps the gornoth will take pity on your plight.” [dwarves (derogatory)]

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward. “At least let us talk to Bard, or–”

“My goodness, could that be the voice of Lady Y/N that I hear?” A wizened hand sweeps open the tent flap and Gandalf steps out, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight.

“Gandalf!” You duck under the spears and rush forward, throwing your arms around him in sheer relief.

Gandalf seems mildly surprised by the gesture and pats your back. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he notices Fíli, and pushes you back gently by your shoulder. “Does Thorin send you to parley?”

“No, we come of our own accord. To seek refuge,” Fíli adds, indicating your belly. He swallows. You know how hard this must be for the proud dwarf prince.

But as you await Gandalf’s response, it occurs to you now that he has no knowledge of you and Fíli’s relationship, and certainly not of your pregnancy. You hold your breath.

The wizard looks down at you, then back to Fíli with a frown. “Come in from the cold and we shall discuss this… development.” He ushers you inside, where Bard, Thranduil, and Bilbo sit at a small table.

The elven king is on his feet immediately. “Why have you brought a–” but his demand ends in a sputter when Tauriel enters behind you.

She meets the king’s eyes steadily and dips her head. “Your highness.”

A small smirk crosses Fíli’s lips at Thranduil’s stunned face.

Gandalf brings forward a small chair, gesturing for you to take a seat. You do so with a grateful smile. Fíli moves behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You take one with a squeeze.

Gandalf sits as well, leaning forward with his hands folded. “Am I correct in assuming that…?” he waves a hand in Fíli’s general direction.

You swallow hard and nod. “Things… things happened.”

“And what of Thorin and Company?”

“We can reason with him,” Fíli cuts in. “Now that you have the stone, there’s some bargaining power, surely!”

“It’s dragon-sickness, Fee, there’s no reasoning with dragon-sickness!” you snap.

“Y/N?” It’s Bilbo. “Do you know what comes next?”

You frown and dig in your bag for The Hobbit. Thranduil and Tauriel exchange looks of confusion.

“It’s a… power of prophecy, of a sort,” you mumble, thumbing through the pages. “We’re only a few pages into chapter seventeen…” you trail off as a dark word consumes your mind. “Orcs!”

Thranduil leans forward. “What?”

“Orcs. That’s—that’s it, that’s all I can think about—fuck!” You bury your face in your hands. “I can’t see it. I’ve changed the story.” You take a deep breath. “Orcs are coming. I don’t know when, I don’t know how many, but they’re coming.”

Gandalf rises swiftly, retrieving his staff from the corner of the tent. “Then we must be ready. Is there any possibility of reasoning with Thorin?”

You rub your temples. “I can’t be sure. I think he recovers—maybe Fíli leaving will speed it up?”

Fíli flinches slightly.

The wizard nods. “Ready your troops. Be prepared for battle by dawn. We will not be caught unawares.”

Thranduil and Bard offer their agreement, Bard standing to leave for his own lodgings. He pauses, glancing at you and Fíli with a curt nod. “Congratulations.” With that, the archer is gone. Thranduil is swift to leave as well, Tauriel falling easily into place behind him.

“Someone needs to warn Thorin,” Fíli says. He places a hand on the hilt of his sword and makes for the exit, but you snag his wrist. He twists against your grasp, and you hold tight, fingers digging into his sleeve.

“You’re staying here,” you insist.

“I’ll go,” Bilbo says quietly.

Fíli scoffs. “They’d skewer you with an arrow as soon as you’re within sight of the gates.”

“Well, I did manage to sneak in and out of Erebor without a terrible dragon noticing,” Bilbo points out. “I think I can get past a few dwarves.”

The dwarf just snorts in response.

Gandalf eyes the hobbit curiously, watching Bilbo’s fingers fidget in his pocket. “Very well then, Bilbo. As for the pair of you,” he raises an eyebrow in your direction, “I was just about to put on a pot of tea, and I believe Lady Y/N and her little one are sorely in need of some proper nourishment.” He dips his head and ducks out of the tent.

A long, shaking sigh escapes you. You lean against the back of the chair, weariness plaguing your bones. Fili returns to your side and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then, he separates out a thin section of your hair, carefully beginning to weave it into a braid.

You let out a small gasp, covering his hand with your own. “Fíli? Now?”

He smiles, gently pushing your hand aside and continuing. “If I’m to go into battle at dawn, I want everything to be proper.” The braid complete, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, wooden bead with delicate etchings.

You take it from his outstretched hand. The wood is rough and unsanded, but you can make out a crude attempt at your and Fíli’s initials in English, as well as runes you vaguely recognize as Khuzdûl.

He folds your fingers around the bead and sinks to one knee in front of you. You blush—you didn’t think your human courtship lessons had taken hold.

His eyes sparkle as he gazes up at you. “Will you marry me?”

Your eyes fill with tears. “Yes,” you whisper.

Fíli grins and takes the bead back, securing it in your hair and kissing it gently. You yank him in by the collar and press your lips against his. He melts into the kiss, fingers tangling in your loose hair.

Applause from the corner makes you pull back with a jump. You had forgotten Bilbo was still in the tent. With a lopsided smile, you stand and push the hobbit out towards Gandalf and the fire. “Give us some privacy!” you chide good-naturedly.

Fíli chuckles and rises as well, pulling you close. He kneels back down, lifting your tunic and kissing your stomach, making you flush even more. “You take care of your amad,” he whispers to the unborn dwarfling. “Adad’s got to go scout out the perfect place for our wedding.” He grins, and you grunt, when the baby kicks.

You sigh again and kneel with him, leaning into his arms. You’ve changed the story so much, the future is dark to you now—all that is left is to place your faith in the strength of the dwarves.

Chapter 16: From Now On

and we will come back home, and we will come back home. home again.

-From Now On (From “The Greatest Showman”), Peter Hollens

Stray shafts of pale dawn light peek through the tent flaps. You haven’t slept a wink, cradling a cold cup of tea in your lap. You’d downed three already, chasing the rush of caffeine to get you through whatever is to come. The others would not hear of you participating in the battle in any fashion. It’s frustrating, though you know in your heart that they’re right—the battlefield is no place for a pregnant woman. Still, you felt a twinge of dismay when Fíli left you in the tent to go practice some battle techniques.

Gandalf sits across from you, stirring his own cup. “So,” he begins lightly, “how long have you and Fíli…?”

You gulp, dreading the conversation in fear of judgment. “Since Rivendell,” you say quietly. “Everything happened so fast. We didn’t know if we’d ever get the chance to have a real life together. But maybe now…”

“Does this mean you no longer seek a way to return to your own world?”

That’s not the direction you expected the discussion to go. “I hadn’t thought of that.” You search within yourself, as if rummaging around in your very soul. “But I don’t think I can anymore—if I ever could.”

Gandalf raises an eyebrow.

“When I first came here, I felt this… this pull within me. As if some part of me was missing, like I left part of myself back in my own world. Like maybe I would wake up back at my campsite at any second. But now, I don’t feel that anymore.” You pause. That’s only partly true, isn’t it? You haven’t felt that pull in a long time. Not since you discovered you were pregnant. Your eyes grow misty. “All of me is here now. I… I don’t belong there anymore.” It’s painful to say aloud.

Gandalf seems to understand your conflicted feelings, reaching out a hand to pat your knee. “I’m sure you will be well looked after here in Middle Earth,” he comforts you. “Fíli seems quite proud.”

You smile weakly. “He is. Kíli too, for his part. I just hope Thorin–”

“Y/N! Y/N, Fíli, where are you?”

A shout rings out from outside the tent. You leap up and dash from the tent, recognizing the voice of Ori. The young dwarf in his ill-fitting armor huffs and puffs as he jogs toward you.

Fíli sheathes his sword, stepping forward and putting an arm out to shield you—just in case. “Ori? What are you doing here?”

Ori bends over, hands on his knees. “Thorin… Thorin wants you back… both of you,” he wheezes. “He… says he’s sorry… wants you by his side…”

Gandalf emerges from the tent. “Has the King Under the Mountain regained his senses, then?”

Before Ori can reply, you hear a tremendous roar from the gates of the Lonely Mountain. The troops of Dáin, who had arrived during the night, raise up their weapons. Even from far across the field, you hear them clearly. “Oakenshield! Oakenshield!” they chant jubilantly.

Fíli looks at Gandalf. “I think that’s your answer.” He dashes into the tent and grabs your bag, looping it over your shoulders. “Come on, then!”

Gandalf stops you with a hand. “Y/N. Are you sure this is wise?”

You swallow. “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” you admit. “But I’m not staying here if I can be with my… my family.”

He withdraws his hand. “Then move with haste and caution, and give my regards to the king.”

You nod, squeezing Fíli’s arm and falling into line behind Ori, who keeps adjusting his helm awkwardly as you make your way towards Erebor. The shadow of the mountain looms over you, and you shiver. Fíli rubs his hand up and down your back comfortingly. “We’re going home for good, Y/N,” he whispers. “I promise.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a rumbling interrupts you. From the north, you see them approaching, armor clanging and weapons beating against shields. The army of Azog.

A look of horror dawns on Fíli’s face. The three of you break into a sprint, as fast as you can manage. When you arrive at the wall, a rope falls down in front of you. Nori’s face peers down from the rampart. “Up, quick!”

You stare at the rope, then up at him, gesturing to your belly helplessly.

Fíli rolls his eyes and crouches down. “Come on,” he grunts.

You wrap your arms around his neck in an awkward piggy-back, clinging on for dear life as he slowly clambers up the wall. Just as you feel like your arms are about to give out, Nori’s hands grab yours and haul you over the rampart. “Welcome back, lass.”

“Where are the others?” Fíli puffs.

Nori waves down to the ground, where you can see Thorin and the rest of the Company at the front gate, their communion with Dáin interrupted by the approaching orc army. A thrill of hope and terror fills your heart when you glimpse Bilbo’s tiny figure among them.

“Y/N.” Fili grips your shoulders and kisses you firmly, fingers running along your courting braid. “I must fight.”

Throat tight, you nod. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He flashes you a smirk. “I would never!” Fingering your bead one last time, he turns and rushes down the stairs into the tower, grumbling something about climbing up the wall just to go back down. Nori follows.

Ori looks at your hair with delight. “You have a braid! And a bead! Congratulations, Y/N!” He chuckles. “Dori owes me—I wagered Fíli would propose before November’s end.”

You smile, but it fades quickly as trumpets sounds below you. The orc army is near now, and the combined men, elvish, and dwarven forces surge forward with a roar, Thorin at the head. A tiny blonde head bobs and weaves through the ranks, Fíli hastening to join his brother and uncle. You lift your hand as if he could see you.

Ori taps your shoulder and thrusts a crossbow into your arms. “Just in case.”

“Aren’t you joining them?”

He shakes his head. “We’re the defensive forces,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly.

Great.

You never realized how loud a battle really was—even though you had to adjust the volume when watching the movies as they bounced back and forth between quiet dialogue and triumphant fights. Up on the wall, it’s mostly calm, though you get the occasional shot in at a few particularly dimwitted orcs who stray too close.

You’re sitting against the wall when you hear it—a loud roar of rage, far too close. Scrambling to your feet, you peer down. At the base of the wall, among a circle of corpses, stand Thorin and Azog. Your heart leaps in your throat. Just like in the movie, just like in your dream, Azog drags Fíli by the collar. Hardly thinking, you grip your crossbow shakily and level it at the enormous orc. But you’re no skilled archer, and this is no ordinary foot soldier; your shot lands at his feet. It draws Azog’s attention, though, and he looks up at the mountain.

You load another bolt, struggling against the draw weight. Ori lends you his strength, and the arrow snaps into place. The distraction gives Fíli enough of a window to stab at the arm holding him, causing the orc to drop him reflexively. Fíli rolls away quickly and springs to his feet, taking his place at Thorin’s side. Kíli is there too, bow already drawn and aimed, but Thorin holds out an arm to stop him. This is his fight.

The dwarven king and Azog circle each other slowly. It’s hard to see what’s going on from the wall—you can’t bear it any longer.

“Y/N! Where are you going?” Ori cries as you sprint down the stairs, dashing through the halls from the tower to the gates.

Snow stings your face, and vomit rises up in your throat at the smell of death all around. You push past it, pressing your back against the wall to remain unseen. I just need to see what happens, you tell yourself. No closer.

Thorin and Azog still haven’t attacked each other, but Azog has gained a flail since you made it down to the battlefield. He spits something in Orcish that you don’t recognize, lashing out with his sword arm. Thorin ducks under the swing, slashing at the orc’s torso. Azog twists away and brings down his flail. He narrowly misses the dwarf and snarls in frustration. Blood spatters the snow from the stab Fíli inflicted.

Your breath shakes. They’re so close, so, so close. With sweaty hands, you raise your crossbow again, aiming right for the orc’s back, and fire. This time your arrow flies true and buries itself in the meat of Azog’s shoulder. He growls and whips around, tiny eyes pinpointing you against the wall. He takes a great, lumbering step forward.

Shit shit shit.

But as the giant orc approaches you, a little hobbit appears from thin air, throwing himself at Azog’s feet and causing him to stumble. The orc barely has time to register what’s beneath him before a blade rips through his chest. It withdraws and plunges through again and again with a fury until Azog sinks to a knee with a bloody gurgle. And suddenly, a jagged line appears across the orc’s neck, and his head drops to the ground with a wet thud. He remains upright for a heartbeat before collapsing.

Thorin plants his boot on top of the orc’s body, breathing heavily and gripping a glistening, bloody Orcrist. He spits on Azog’s corpse and raises his sword with a triumphant shout. “For Thrain! For Thror! For Erebor!”

The raging battle around you pauses, orcs and goblins gaping at their headless general. Somewhere, one shouts, and they start a hasty retreat. Bodies drop among them as elvish arrows pierce their armor and dwarven axes cleave through their helmets, leaving few to escape the battlefield intact.

Thorin lifts his head and meets your eyes. He lowers his sword and begins to approach, but stumbles as Fíli pushes past him in a sprint.

“What are you doing down here, ghivashel?” he scolds breathlessly, crushing you in his embrace.

You cling to him as if your life depends on it. “Saving your idiot uncle,” you choke out.

Kíli picks Bilbo up and brushes the hobbit off, mussing up his hair. “That was stupid of the two of you,” he says with a grin, pushing Bilbo forward. He embraces you tightly as well.

You squeeze your eyes shut against tears.

“Y/N.”

They blink open as Kíli releases you.

Thorin’s face is battered and dirty, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead. “I owe you my deepest apologies.”

Instead of replying, you reach out and wipe the blood away from his brow. “You look awful,” you reply with a wobbly smile.

He pauses, then smiles and claps you on the shoulder. “We did it, Y/N. Welcome home.”

[kingofvipers]

The Hobbit Masterlist

Bilbo

Thorin

Kili

Fili

Thranduil

Legolas

Bard

Bain

Azog

Smaug

Elrond

[fairytalelover33]

Are Those Tears?

Thorin x Female Reader

Prompt: When Thorin stares death in the face, you both realize your feelings for each other may be a little stronger than friendship.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Some slight blood/gore, mentions of death, Thorin being a softie for once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could have prepared you for this journey. No amount of training would have sufficed. The whole company making it this far virtually intact was a miracle within itself. You had all survived attempt after attempt on your lives. It seemed that the odds of completing this journey were in your favor, having escaped each encounter with mere scrapes and bruises.

But this time you might not be so lucky.

The muscles in your arms and core ache, as you cling desperately to the branch of a fallen tree on the edge of a cliff, your legs dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. You can hear the grunts and bellows of your incapacitated comrades, confirming that they are in the same predicament as you. The snarls and howls of the Wargs add to the cacophony, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You realize that the only thing keeping the large predators and their riders from swooping in and slaughtering you all is the blazing fire surrounding the tree you all cling to. Azog the defiler sits astride a white Warg, pacing back and forth in front of the wall of flames separating them from you. You see Azog and his mutt pause in their pacing, the pale orc's scarred face hardening.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

"Thorin, no!" Balin exclaims quietly. You lift your head as a large boot plants onto the tree trunk next to you. The figure makes his way past, through the flames, towards the pale orc. The long dark hair, peppered with streaks of grey, the broad shoulders, the determined stride. It was unmistakably Thorin.

No.

A sudden wave of desperation crashes over you, making your stomach turn. You just want to reach out and grab him, yank him back. You want to scream, to beg, to yell at him to just turn around. Your breathing becomes ragged, and one quiet word manages to claw its way out of your throat, repeating over and over under your breath, like a prayer waiting to be answered.

"No. No. No. No." Thorin's steps do not falter, his sword glinting in the light of the blazing inferno that lines his path. It feels as though the world is moving in slow motion as Thorin charges the pale orc, armed with his sword and his shield. His Oaken Shield. How life has a funny way of coming full circle. Azog the defiler guides his pale furred Warg in a mighty leap from the boulder he had been perched upon.

The blow dealt to Thorin as the white Warg collides with him in mid-air snaps you back to reality with a rush of dread. The force of the beasts bodyweight stops Thorin in his tracks, sending him crashing to earth. Reality sets in as you hear the rest of the company fighting the pull of gravity, straining to hold on to the strand of life that is this fallen tree.

Azog wheels his pale beast around, charging at Thorin once more, and sending a bone rattling blow of his mace to the dwarf's chest, knocking him back to the ground. A pang hits you directly in your heart, and flows through your bloodstream, some desperate feeling you can't quite place seeping into your very bones. You don't understand the feeling well enough to give it a name. All you know is that it gives you enough strength to muscle yourself up with a strangled cry, huffing and gritting your teeth as you clamber up to the trunk of the tree. You can barely feel the heat that burns the palms of your hands, red and raw from clinging to the rough bark of the tree branch.

The Hobbit, Bilbo, seems to have the same rush of bravery that you do, and you see his small form scramble up to the trunk of the tree, pausing to take one deep breath to right his turbulent mind before charging into the fray, armed with his little elvish knife.

The wretched hound of hell clamps its jaws around Thorin. The sickening sound of Thorin's ribs cracking reaches your ears, making your head swim. You can feel yourself call out his name in agony, but it sounds like someone else's voice is coming from your mouth as you stumble a few steps along the fallen tree. You right yourself in time to see the mutt toss Thorin like a farm dog tosses a snake, his form crashing onto a patch of hard rock on the hillside.

"(Y/N)!" Balin shouts as you start hauling it to where Thorin lays, hot on Bilbo's heels. "No, Lass! It's too dangerous!" No response comes from your lips, your mouth set in a grimace as you have a clear view out to where one of the Defilers minions is preparing to behead Thorin. He lies pinned upon the rocky ground, his breathing ragged, teeth clenched in defiance as he grasps around desperately for his sword.

You quickly overtake Bilbo, and with a muffled grunt you stiffen your shoulders, tackling the Orc with the force of your body weight, bowling it over. You can hear Azog's roar of dissent as you stop the orcs deadly blow mid swing. A sharp pain explodes like a lightning strike in your right shoulder, making you cry out. As you and the orc tumble away from Thorin, the filthy monster rolls atop you with a snarl, pinning you down. You struggle futilely beneath it, flailing like a madman, grasping for something, anything to protect yourself, and finding nothing. The orc raises its armored fist, pulling back to deliver a skull crushing blow.

Suddenly, the orc shrieks, blood spewing from its mouth, spraying you in the face. It falls to the side, revealing a fiery eyed Bilbo, delivering continuous blows with his small, but mighty blade. You gasp for air, viciously wiping your face with the sleeve of your tunic and scrambling away.

You crawl to the barely conscious form of Thorin, not caring about the rocks and twigs scraping your skin through the thin fabric of your clothing. Ignoring the shooting pain in your shoulder, you pull yourself up to your knees, cradling his head in your lap. His half-lidded gaze holds yours for a moment, as if trying to see into your very soul. A thin sheen of sweat coats his face as he murmurs a single word, before slipping into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

"(Y/N)..." Thorin breathes out softly. If you had not been watching his lips move you would have assumed you imagined it. His eyes flicker shut, his ragged gasps slowing to shallow breaths. Tears well up in your eyes as you brush some of his sweat drenched hair from his regal face.

"Just hold on. Please." You whimper helplessly, gazing down at him. You look up to see the heart wrenching sight of Bilbo all alone, standing his ground as the monsters descend upon you, his hands shaking as he holds his sword at the ready. The hobbit plants his feet, swinging his sword wildly around in an attempt to intimidate the foes before him. Sparks fly from the burning portion of forest that surrounds you, and you feel a deep sadness, wondering if this is truly the end of your adventure.

You take another moment to gaze down at Thorin. You trace his face with your eyes, trying to memorize every feature and contour. Running your thumb over his cheekbone in a way you would have never been brave enough to do before, a sigh escapes your lips. With a shaky breath, you lean down, hesitating for a moment before pressing a feather soft kiss to his forehead, holding back the tears that threaten to spill. Wishing more than anything that you had been brave enough to tell him how you feel, you now vow to not go down a weeping, helpless mess. You hold back your tears, forcing yourself to stare defiantly back at the group of vicious carnivores that approach the three of you.

One of the Wargs snaps its head to the side, sniffing the air. A sudden battle cry makes you start, and you whip your gaze in the direction of the commotion. Your spirit lifts as the unmistakable figures of Fili and Kili come charging in from a gap in the flames, tailed closely by Dwalin. They attack the Wargs and their riders swiftly, slicing and hacking with their weapons. You try to get up to help, but your energy is sapped from wrestling the Orc. You opt to be a close-range protector to Thorin, crouching in front of him, your fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword that you spotted lying a few feet away.

A vicious noise that you didn't know you were capable of making tears its way through your throat as a Warg stalks toward Thorin with a snarl. You grip the hilt of the sword tighter, your knuckles white as you prepare to fight tooth and nail to protect Thorin. You shift on your feet as you crouch low, poised to spring up and drive the blade straight through the roof of the beasts' mouth and into its brain.

Before you get the chance, a giant flurry of wind and feathers scoops up the Warg, the beast yelping as it is hurled unceremoniously from the cliffside. You scramble back slightly, your mouth falling open as you look to the sky in disbelief and slight fear.

Eagles bigger than you have ever seen circle the cliffs edge, swooping in to snatch and dispose of the Wargs and their riders. Some of the mighty birds use the wind from their wings to fan the flames that burn the forest, singeing a group of mutts. You feel a moment of peace, but it doesn't last long. Your eyes widen slightly, terror etching your face as one of the birds makes a beeline for you.

"Wait. Wait! WAIT!" You shriek, as the giant bird envelops you in its claws. The fur of Thorin's jacket, which you had been holding on to, slips from your grasp as the creature tosses you off the edge of the cliff. You tumble through the air, screaming bloody murder, before landing with a thud on the back of another eagle, knocking the wind out of you slightly. You curse under your breath as you gasp for air, trying to regain your bearings. Your eyes scan around, realizing that every member of the company was either caged safely in the claws of one of the Avians, or sat comfortably atop one.

You hear a rage filled roar in the distance as the eagles whisk you all away. You feel a pit in your stomach, realizing that Azog is still alive, and you know that he will never stop hunting down the line of Durin. Your stomach drops as your worried mind flickers back to Thorin. You try to spot him, your eyes scanning each of the birds. The morning sun makes it nearly impossible, partially blinding you. You tuck your face into the soft feathers you sit upon, tears pricking your eyes as you pray the eagles will land soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Groggily lifting your bruised and battered head, you scan around, realizing the eagles are making their descent. They all circle slowly down, landing atop a rocky spire, where you can see for miles around. Your eagle lands last, and your heart drops as you see Thorin lying still upon the flat ground, the company standing around him. You slide down from the back of the eagle, crumpling slightly as your legs hit the ground. Fili and Kili appear at your side almost instantly, supporting you under your arms as you try to regain your balance. You wince as Kili bumps your shoulder, hissing through your teeth.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Kili asks in concern, releasing your arm slightly.

"Yes, I just... never mind me." You tear your eyes away from Thorin, finding Bilbo a few feet away. You pull away from the brothers, limping over to hug Bilbo. "Thank you." You whisper, pulling back and meeting Bilbo's gaze. He nods, and nothing else needs to be said. Bilbo is smart enough to be able to read the emotion behind your eyes. Your hand rests on his shoulder, and you both smile softly before you turn your gaze back to Thorin.

Gandalf kneels beside Thorin, his hand hovering over his face as he murmurs some spell over his unconscious form. You can feel the tears of desperation welling up in your eyes as you look on helplessly, silently begging whatever God is listening to please, let him live. You can feel yourself shaking as the company waits with bated breath. Then, his eyes finally flutter open, the dwarf drawing a deep breath.

Hot tears fall from your eyes, and you don't bother to stop them. You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. He lives. He clambers to his feet, aided by Dwalin and Kili. He shakes them off, the angry look on his face surprising you all. He locks eyes with you, before flickering his gaze to Bilbo.

"You two." Thorin says in an accusing tone, glaring at the both of you. A confused look crosses your face, the rest of the company looking on.

"What were you doing?" Thorin snaps. "You nearly got yourselves killed!" Your eyes lock onto his, and you don't bother wiping the tears from your face as you stand bewildered.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden?" Thorin hisses, stalking towards you. "That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" You hold his gaze, teary eyed as he looks between yourself and Bilbo, seemingly berating you. He pauses for a moment, the rest of the company sharing glances in disbelief.

Emotion suddenly takes over Thorin's face. "I have never been so wrong, in all my life." He steps forward, embracing Bilbo, patting him on the back. You could almost laugh at the look of shock on Bilbo's face as he tentatively returns his hug. Thorin pulls back, meeting Bilbos eyes with an apologetic look. "I am sorry I doubted you."

Thorin's eyes turn to you, his face softening as he looks at your tear-stained face. He takes the few steps to close the distance between you. The company becomes rather quiet as he silently approaches, his eyes never leaving your face. He stops in front of you, pausing, and you sniffle slightly, looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Your heart stops as his rough hand rises to your face, gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wipes away a fresh tear.

"Are those tears, Amrâlimê?" Thorin murmurs, making your heart skip a beat. He brings his other hand to your face, wiping away the rest of your tears, even as your eyes well up more. "No more of those." He says quietly, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose against yours gently, before pulling back to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He murmurs, his eyes scanning your form. His hand still cupping your jaw gently. You shake your head, your eyes locked on his. Kili speaks up at your lie, knowing you are indeed hurt.

"She hurt her right shoulder." Kili says, before falling silent with an apologetic look. You glare at him, sighing in defeat as Thorin calls over Oin to take a look at your shoulder.

"What about you? You definitely need to be checked out, Thorin." You say sternly as thorin guides you to sit on a rock a few feet away. A small smile graces his face.

"I appreciate your concern. But you come first." He says softly, making you blush profusely. He gives a nod to Oin before stepping away to speak with Gandalf. Fili and Kili make their way over to you, giving each other a knowing look. You narrow your eyes at them before tugging on Kili's sleeve, making him kneel down to your level on the hard ground as Oin examines your shoulder.

"Kili, what does... Amrâlimê mean?" You ask inquisitively, as you know minimal Khuzdul. The brothers share another look, smiling at each other.

"You will find out in time." Kili says cryptically, standing up with a grin after giving you a pat on the back. You give him an exasperated look, cursing as Oin adjusts your shoulder. The brothers turn away with smirks plastering their faces, leaving you to ponder what Thorin could possibly have said.

[celeste-clearwater-06]

heartbeat (thorin oakenshield x female!modern! reader)

gif by me!!

desc. - reader puts her CPR lessons to good use when thorin's on the brink of death. (inspired by an imagine by @imaginexhobbit but make it sad🫶 also i listened to "farewell to dobby" while reading this, it adds so muchhh)

warnings - angst 💔

word count - 2.7k

For most of the time you’d been traveling with Thorin and his merry band of warriors, you could only account a few times you provided yourself useful to the group. Bofur was a whittler and toy maker, Oin a healer, Ori a scribe. Thorin and his sister-sons, the rightful heir to a kingdom. Even Bilbo had squeezed his way into a position of burglary, though he was hardly fit, and was still fighting to prove himself.

You?

A few stories around the campfire. Some questions answered about where you’d appeared from out of nowhere in particular. Mouth watering modern food recipes you babbled on about, over rabbit stew Bombur happily served on the cold nights on the road. And sure, you were getting good with a sword, but not nearly as skillful as the fearless fighter Dwalin.

You could see the malevolence and distaste in Thorin’s eyes when Gandalf decided for himself that you would make a fine addition to the group. After all, some otherworldly stranger happening upon them just as their fateful quest began was no coincidence. To him it meant something. But to the leader of the group? Danger? Deadweight? You couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it settled behind his cold, steel-blue eyes and swelled whenever he watched you fail miserably at every task given.

You simply weren’t built for a world like this.

Thorin didn’t hate you. He wasn’t necessarily fond of you either. And how you longed to fit in, impress him maybe. Break past whatever tough exterior that he used to keep a distance between the two of you. Pushing too much would surely annoy him, so you opted to keep to yourself, sitting back and placing yourself near Gandalf and the witty Bilbo Baggins, who seemed to have walked a few miles in your own shoes. If he could wear them, that is. Hoping maybe one day the King under the mountain would come around. Maybe.

But now, soaring over the horizon of a morning sun and above the towering mountains, on the feathered back of a massive bird, Bilbo had proven himself in his bravery, and you were alone and useless in your skills.

You were seated atop the same eagle as the halfling, right behind another that carried Thorin’s limp body in its talons, wind and the worried cries of his nephews rushing through your hair and past your ears. Azog’s fight was not an easy one. Not that you could do much anyways, dangling uselessly from a blazing pine tree and fingers slipping from its scorching branches. But Thorin, ever the brave, was taken down quickly.

Thank the lord for Gandalf’s endless alliances.

Now, the eagles circled a plateau, oddly sticking out from above high treetops like a sore thumb, and began to descend to its slanted surface where each member of the company jumped off. Some destination this was, hundreds of feet off the ground. You’d think they might find a safer spot to land this band of underground dwelling travelers but beggars can’t be choosers. At least you were out of harm's way for the time being. The eagle you and Bilbo rode flew low enough for you to hop off and land safely on the cliff’s surface, then turn and see Thorin, unconscious and unmoving, set down gently in front of the rest of the group.

They all crowded around him, shouting and shaking his body vigorously, but to no avail. Your stomach dropped when you heard one of them mutter a word that sounded like “dead”.

You rushed over, just getting a few glimpses of his face from behind the heads of thick hair and heavy fur coats circling him like vultures, Bilbo at your heels and following in curiosity.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Thorin! Thorin, wake up!” A hand tapped on the side of his face.

You immediately began shouting to clear some room. The sea of worried dwarves parted for you, just enough room to sling your haversack off your shoulders and lean down on your knees, bringing an ear to his mouth. They were right. Not a breath to be heard. Nor a pulse, you discovered, after placing your fingers to the side of his cold neck.

“No…no no, no.”

The company shared confused mutters and looks, worry lines still etched like canyons in their faces as they watched you clamor to unclasp his thick cloak and pull away as much clothing as you could from his chest.

Now, you were no doctor. Not even a medical student for that matter. Just barely scraping by with an art degree and two, low paying part-time jobs back home. Wherever that was. But, thankfully, those required CPR lessons back in junior high suddenly came rushing back to you, and you were gonna put to the best use you could.

You locked your elbows, flattened your palms, and then hastily pressed against the brute of his firm chest. Mahal, it was stubborn, and the armored shirt between your hands and his heart was no help, but acting quickly spared no time for shedding any more of his clothes. Again and again you pressed, one, two, just how the instructor taught you with her quick tongue and loud voice.

“An even pace! You’re going to lose him!”

The recall made your head spin, especially considering it might have been a bit comedic at the time, trying to revive an armless mannequin on the tile floor of your classroom. But under the steady pressure of your palms was a real person, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Gandalf landed somewhere behind you, being the last to touch ground, but he was forgotten in the sea of deep voices asking what you could possibly be doing.

By the 16th compression, you were beginning to break a sweat. Twenty, twenty one…

“Lass… what are ya’ doing?” Bofur's voice, usually friendly and jovial, was a low and cowering one. His question left the rest of the group quiet. You heard, but you didn’t answer. That would be for later when this was over. Preferably with a happy ending.

Thirty.

You moved to pinch Thorin's nose shut, tilting his head just slightly off the ground with the other hand tangled in his hair and breathed into his open mouth.

Any and all bewildered muttering was lost on the focus you had, to watch for any movement in his relaxed face.

You breathed again, and then bent over to listen. Nothing.

Now things began to get more grave than you’d taken them before.

You moved back to begin compressions again, this time pressing harder and deeper against his heart. You lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat gathering on your brow.

In your class, you were supposed to take turns, and rotate when one got tired so they could properly compress. But this wasn’t class.

Thorin was beneath the weight of your hands and his face was losing color.

“Come on… come on Thorin.”

You lost count after the 19th shove downwards, adrenaline kicking in and tears blurring the corners of your eyes as Thorin convulsed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder above.

“Lass… he-” you smacked it away, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach like fire that you spat out.

“No! No he’s not, n-not yet.”

Again, you breathed into his airway, heavy and even, like you were supposed to. You were doing everything right. So why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t he breathing?

This was the quietest you had ever heard the company. Only birds and the sound of your exhausted, heaving breaths and choking sobs floating in the cool morning air.

You moved back to compressions, starting again, one, two, three. You were begging him, hysterically pleading his unresponsive body to kick start back up.

“Please Thorin. Come on.”

Now tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, warm and bothersome and blinding, falling over your hands and his clothes. Your arms ached at the now desperate shoving against his heart. You looked pathetic, like a widow begging for scraps of Thorin’s lifeline, something to get him through. The ground dug harshly into your knees, bruising and irritating them through the pants as they dully scraped with each movement.

Twenty two.

You were slowing down, growing weary and tired from the work. But it wasn’t good enough. At this point, with the silent stares, you knew that even the ever stubborn dwarves had lost hope for their leader some time ago. And you had too, but now you were already getting past the twenty-fifth press down. Curse the lot of them, just staring down at you with pity as you sniffed and wiped the snot and tears from your face. And curse the beauty of the morning sun peaking over the mountains, so regal and beautiful, and staring down at the morose show of a sad little human weeping to herself.

“Please… please, God you idiot. Running down there like that.”

A cry frogged its way out of the back of your throat, raspy and gurgling. You lift his head for the third time, sniffed in and then pushed your shaking breath as hard as you could manage, pulled away, then back down to press your quivering lips upon his cold ones and-

A breath. Soft and faint, just barely there, and it slightly cooled the tears on your face.

You froze, staring down at Thorin to see his eyes twitch just slightly underneath their lids. Another exhale fled him, his time much more apparent, and his brows furrowed as he stirred awake. The gasps and shouts from the company, scrambling over and circling him like they did before to help him up as he came to.

“He’s alive!”

“A miracle! Bless the Valor!”

You lifted yourself from the ground, onto your feet, but the shock of your attempts actually working, and exhaustion, just left you to stumble backwards onto your butt, crying harder than before, in relief and joy, nonetheless sobbing like your life depended on it. You gave into the fatigue of your muscles, the tiredness from the adrenaline, and exhaustion from your sobs, and fell onto your back, covering your eyes with a forearm with the other limply laying on the ground next to you. Bilbo kneeled next to you and laid his small hand over yours, watching as the king was pulled to his feet and grimacing at the noises of his jovial party celebrating with shouting and laughing.

“You did it,” The burglar said quietly, just enough for you to hear. It wasn’t just amazement in his voice, but reassurance. Something to ground you, like the warm squeeze of his hand.

You trembled, breaths coming in and out with a shiver.

Thorin’s dazed when you slowly sit up off the ground to look at him, swaying about and being jostled as each excited dwarf embraced and jumped around him, and an arm shouldered over Kìli’s to keep his balance.

“You were dead.” Dwalin’s normally stony, hard-set face, was graced with the most horrified look you’d ever seen in your life, eyes widened and brows twisted upwards in awe. That seemed to settle everyone down enough, and shake Thorin from the rest of his stupor. Once again, the world around you was blessed with silence that you hadn’t gotten a taste of since you arrived. It was short lived.

“Dead?” Thorin asked, incredulous and confused.

“Ye’ weren’t breathing lad!” Gloin chimed in, “we thought you were gone!”

The king’s eyes narrow, and shift between the members of his party, blinking away a head rush.

“How is that possible?” The second set of words he’d spoken since he screamed Azog’s name. Thorin’s voice was low and rasping. He slowly turned, following the astounded, wide-eyed stares from the surrounding dwarves, boring into you like you were some God.

You sniffled, wiping at your reddened, runny nose with the sleeve of your shirt.

He lifted a jeweled hand to graze over his heart, where you were reviving him, just staring at the sad sight of your tearful eyes.

“She saved ya’, Thorin,” Balin’s voice is serious and somber, breaking the silence, “Brough’ ya’ back from near death. Mahal knows how.”

Thorin’s eyes grew sharp, brows furrowing and piercing into you, where you pulled yourself to sit on your knees. His fingers tightened around the cloth where his hand laid, clutching at his chest.

“You,” he gruffed, “You did this?”

“I-I… I didn’t know if it was gonna work.” Your throat tightened and squeezed. Great, even more tears flowed down your face. Thorin’s eyes held the same glint that made your stomach twist with embarrassment and shame. The least he could do is offer a nod of gratitude towards you. Instead, he tore free from the group, ripping his arm away off his nephew’s shoulder and stumbling towards you like a drunken fool, with thudding footsteps.

Dwalin calls after him uselessly, just hanging back and letting the scene play out.

When he stops in front of you, eyes firey and broad chest heaving breaths in and out, standing a few inches over where you’re knelt, all you can do is try not to look away. You’re glad you hadn’t.

A boa-tight grip took hold of your heart and tightened when you saw his features soften, worry lines and crow's feet disappearing in the appearance of a small, incredulous smile. His softened eyes lined themselves with the hint of tears catching like jewels in the morning sun. Thorin dropped down to his knees to meet your height in a hug that you could never have prepared yourself for. You freeze for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Thorin, fearless, merciless, King Under the Mountain was hugging, no, embracing you, with the force of a thousand winds and strength of ten thousand men, because he was alive, thanks to you. And you hugged him back, pulling closer than you already were, and grasping at the back of his shirt and cried into his shoulder. The dwarves cheered in excitement behind Thorin. Through the yelling and praise, you can hear Thorin’s low voice next to your ear.

“I cannot repay this deed. Thank you.”

You pull away to see the kindest, warmest smile your eyes had ever been blessed to lay upon. It knocked the breath from your lungs. The corners of his eyes and the arch of his nose wrinkled upwards. It suited his face much more than the cold and stoic stares he was prone to.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.” Was all you could huff out.

“Yet I did. I misunderstood you greatly.” Thorin wiped a tear from the side of your face, “You make a member of this group. My life is indebted to you. And you,”

He peered over your shoulder at a wide-eyed Bilbo Baggins, standing just past your shoulder. You helped him stand from the ground, arm linked in his to meet the hobbit.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he slipped free from your arm, and started toward Bilbo, just as he did you. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?”

Your face fell, akin to Bilbo’s solemn look. He stood there, taking the string of insults like a punching bag.

“That you had no place amongst us?”

And then he pulled the hobbit in just as he did you.

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.”

Your heart reeled, and this time you smiled along with the rest of the company’s rejoices, watching the surprised grin spread across Bilbo’s face. Thorin pulled away.

“I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, no. I would have doubted me, too.”

A hand planted itself on your shoulder, and you turned to look at Gandalf and his sagely smile.

“You’ve made yourself quite the home in these dwarves' hearts, young lady,” he said. It was comedic, the way his silvery hair and beard dramatically blew in the wind, “Perhaps once this has settled, you stay with them. I think you’d find yourself more than welcome in Erebor’s Halls.”

You hummed in thought. The band of travelers were gathered on the edge of the plateau, looking out in the distance towards the peak of the Lonely Mountain, calling their name through the mist.

Thorin turned back to look at you over his shoulder with a gentle smile, and nodded his head to you in a silent thanks. The ghost of a blush spread across his face.

“I just might.”

(aaaaaah! what did you guys think??? :3 it feels wonderful to get a full fic out after so long, ive had this idea in my head for dayyys ugh 💔 please send me some requests loves, i'm in desperate need of some comfort fics! don't forget to reblog and like!! love yas! 🩷🌺🌸🌷💝💞)

tag list : @kumqu4t @tolkien-fantasy @blueberryrock @to-be-frank-i-dont-care @luna-xial @legolaslovely @fizzyxcustard @pistachiozombie @imaginexhobbit @beenovel

[plussizefantasia]

Hey! Can I get a Thorin x f!reader where the company doesn’t believe in her because of her size and the fact that she’s a woman and then she totally kicks ass and doesn’t care what they think. And he totally regrets ever doubting her? Fluff ending if you can please!!

You Saved Me

Thorin x Warrior!reader

WC: ~3k

warnings: violence, death, it's essentially a botfa re-write so...

a/n: thank you for the request, this was entirely written in a burst of passion at midnight so if they're are any typos I'm sorry, let me know and I'll fix them <3

You were a feared warrior, one with skills you’d been honing since you could walk. Your parents had been killed by an orc pack when you were but a baby and you were taken in by the rangers who found you crying by the bodies of your loved ones. Almost a year ago you were sent a letter by that blasted grey wizard, an invitation, or maybe a plea you weren't sure anymore. Join a company of dwarves on their quest, and keep them safe. That is all he asked of you.

You had tried, you really had tried to keep them safe but when those blasted dwarves took one look at you and decided that there wasn't any possible way you knew anything about fighting, it became difficult. You had several moments where all you wanted to do was clobber them over the head, but you refrained. 

The whole journey was wrought with their endless need to remind you that you were a woman, a bigger one at that. They must’ve thought you hadn’t noticed or something of that nature, for surely they wouldn’t keep bringing it up if not to hurt you on purpose. They never forgot to tell you how much they thought you were soft, incapable, fragile. 

You’d shown them time and time again that this wasn't the case, incapacitating two of the trolls when they were all tied up in sacks ready to be cooked for dinner. You were defending  Ori when you were discovered by the warg scouts before your arrival at Rivendell. You were the first to join ranks and fend off the hundreds of bloodthirsty goblins in Goblin-town. Not to mention how you risked your life for Thorin’s when Azog attacked. You had run in with no weapon, just pure adrenaline and a need to save your leader.Not that you would ever tell him that. Tell any of them that.

Thorin was certainly one of a kind. He was undoubtedly cold, it was his nature, he had lost too much in too short a time to be willing to open himself up to others. Especially when the ‘others’ consisted of a woman ranger he hadn’t wanted on the quest in the first place. You understood though, you too had lost too much.

You wouldn't say that he warmed up to you, but it didn’t seem like he hated you as much as he did in the beginning. You had even caught him smiling once or twice when you cuffed Fili and Kili over the head at their cheeky remarks about your size.

 Over and over again you’ve defended these idiotic men, and yet nothing changed, they still had no faith. Most of them treated you horribly not that you think they noticed. It was hard to ignore their callousness when it came to you, especially compared to the warmth they shared with one another. There were several nights when their words became too much and you had to stray from camp in order to let the tears fall out of sight. But you had promised Gandalf that you would protect them, and if that meant staying even when it was obvious you weren't wanted, then that is what you’d do.

It wasn’t until Thorin, overtaken with his dragon sickness had cast you out that you had finally decided you were done. Done with dwarves, done with being underestimated and belittled at every moment.

“You will never be good enough, you are a burden to all those around you, a burden I no longer wish to be saddled with!” He had yelled from his position on the ramparts as you descended from the same rope that the hobbit had used just moments before. 

Thorin had never been cruel, aloof maybe, but never cruel. You knew deep down that it was his addled mind that allowed this cruelty to spew from his mouth. Thorin may not have known you loved him, but you had thought the two of you had reached a sort of understanding, a mutual bond forged by the danger you’d overcome together. Apparently not.

You joined Gandalf’s side as he spoke to Thorin. You bit your tongue to stop yourself from yelling back at the King Under the Mountain. It wasn't until you heard Thorin’s reply that you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“I will have war!” He yelled.

“You will have death!” You had screamed back “You will have death for you and your kin if you do not stop this foolishness Oakenshield!” With that, you turned and headed back towards the gates of Dale. If there really was to be a war you would be needed, to protect those who could not protect themselves.

You heard the horns of war in the distance and shook your head. Foolish dwarves doing foolish things. You kept running towards Dale hoping to be of some use. 

Arriving at the old armory, you pulled out an old steel sword, one dating back to before the fall of the city. It wasn’t as good as the eleven blades that the elves of Mirkwood confiscated when you were captured, but it was well-balanced. The hilt was wrapped in old black leather, well worn and rough against your skin. 

You didn’t have time to sift for a better weapon, so you took the sword and ran. Bursting out onto the street your eyes scanned for danger. You took in all the rubble, some new and some old from the dragon attack years ago. The screaming of a group of people made you cease your reminiscing and run towards them. 

Taking down several enemies as you run, you finally round the corner into the main square. Landing your sight on Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda. Bain doing his very best to defend his sisters. You run forward without hesitation and trade blows with the monster in front of you, taking him down in no time at all.

“Are you all alright?” You ask rushing towards the girls and helping them down from the cart they had used as a hiding spot.

“We’re fine ma’am” Tilda responds in a shaky voice

“You all were very brave, but now it's time to head to the hall where everyone else is. Take cover, the battlefield is not safe for children I assure you.”

“But-” Bain had cut in.

“No, Bain, I know what your Da has asked of you but I’m telling you to take cover.”

He hesitated but nodded and took his sisters towards the main hall where the rest of the women and children were hiding.

You continue to take down the orcs and their armies as you run toward the main battlefield. 

“Y/N! Y/N!” You hear your name being called, rotating quickly your eyes fall on the hobbit who had become very dear to you over the course of the Journey.

“Bilbo, are you hurt? What’s wrong?” You rushed out

“No. No, I’m fine it’s Thorin.”

“Thorin? What’s happened with Thorin where is he?” Your questioning picked up in intensity.

“The Pale Orc is atop Ravenhill, and Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili have all gone to kill him.” The Hobbit responded just as rushed.

Without another word, you grab the back of the Hobbit’s coat and drag him behind you. Your eyes quickly scan the horizon, taking inventory of anything that could get you to the top of the Mountain quickly. You spot Lord Dain, on his royal ram, and make a plan in your head.

Hobbit still in your grasp you sprint across the field towards the Dwarf Lord,

“Lord Dain! I need your ram.”

“W-What?!” He sputters.

“I am not asking.” You huff out a frustrated breath and use the hand not currently gripping your friend to shove the dwarf off of his steed, quickly taking his place and beginning your trek to the mountain. Sending a quick prayer to whatever being there might be to keep your love safe. Just long enough for you to kill him yourself.

Once you are sure he won’t fall off you let go of your hold on Bilbo and scan the ground flying past you for any more weapons you could use.

Seeing a discarded elven bow and quiver ahead of you, you steer the ram towards it and scoop it off the ground and into your grasp. Five Arrows, you’ll have to use them wisely, but it’s better than nothing.

You look towards Ravenhill, watching as the dwarves you have reluctantly come to care for dismount their own steed. Pushing your heels into the sides of your own ram you pray to any gods out there that you’ll make it in time. 

You meet a few obstacles on your journey, the occasional orc arrow to be deflected, and even a troll who had fallen right in front of you. Nevertheless, in no time at all you reach the peak and search for the men you came to aid. 

You only see Thorin and Dwalin as they fight their way through hordes of creatures of the dark. You leap into the fray and call out to the two warriors

“Where are the princes?” 

“They’ve gone to search the structure.”

A yell coming from the tower quickly puts that thought to rest. You slash down the last monster before you quickly shift to see a sight that you’ll have a hard time forgetting. The pale orc holds Fili in his grasp. You immediately grasp your bow and nock an arrow. 

The pale orc is too absorbed in his victory speech to notice you pulling back the string. With a deep breath, you let an arrow loose and send a quick prayer that it hits its target. Not a second later you hear a deep grunt and see that your aim is true. The arrow lodged itself deep into the meat of the arm holding the dwarf prince. He drops Fili in surprise and your eyes widen in fear. However, it is short-lived as Fili pulls a dagger out of nowhere and wedges into the stone of the tower, slowing his descent.

Four arrows left. 

Azog staggers back and he catches himself on the wall behind him. His eyes find yours and you try not to shudder at the rage within him. This is a benefit you tell yourself. An angry enemy is a distracted enemy. His rage will be his downfall, you’ll make sure of it.

Fili lets go of the dagger and drops the rest of the distance, landing on his feet and quickly running to your side. Moments later, Kili runs from the tower and practically lunges for his brother. 

“You idiot Fee.” The brother's embrace is hard and you’re a little worried they’ll suffocate each other. Eventually, Kili lets go and turns to you, “Thank you. And I’m sorry.” 

“No need for apologies Kili. Gandalf asked me to protect you, and that’s what I’ve done.”

“Still, I underestimated you, I won’t do it again.” You nod at the prince and clap a hand on his shoulder. 

“I have to go help your uncle, don’t follow me, and whatever you do don’t split up. You’re stronger together.”

“Aye.” They both reply and send a single nod your way.

You clutch your bow and scan your surroundings, a trail of black blood and a broken arrow stem point the way to the Pale Orc’s location. 

“Fili, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra dagger would you?” You turn and ask. He smirks and opens his coat. 

“Take your pick Lass.”

After grabbing two matching daggers from Fili you begin jogging towards the frozen waterfall. You are single-minded in your task, ignoring the shouts of battle from below and the wails of the dying. You cannot let yourself get distracted. Distraction means death and you can’t help anyone when you’re dead.

You come upon a scene that you’d only ever had nightmares about. Thorin and Azog facing off on a barren plane. Neither is holding back and you force yourself to push past the terror that grips your heart. As you run towards your king you begin releasing arrows one after the other. 

Four. Three. Two. One. None.

Each arrow pierces the flesh of the monster pushing him back and back. Blow after blow sends him staggering and gives Thorin the advantage. He swings his sword and slashes at the beast.  But Azog does not fall. 

He yells. He stands and he starts returning blows. They are sloppy, his mace has no aim. It doesn’t need to, the force he puts behind it means he really only has to land one blow. 

You can’t run fast enough to cover the distance, especially not on the ice. Nevertheless, you keep pushing. Your legs burn and so do your lungs but you keep going. You race against time and fate to reach the dwarf you love. 

Thorin falls. The orc closes in. You run.

And run, and run, and run. 

You don’t notice the battle cry that rips from your body, but the orc does. 

He looks up and a sneer crosses his face. 

You get closer.

You pull your daggers.

The orc stands. 

You take a running jump.

Azog runs. 

You smile.

This is foolish. You understand that, not even you as skilled as you are could take down a beast such as this. But you’ll try because you made two promises. One to Gandalf, that you would keep the company safe. And another to yourself, that if you survived this you would stop being afraid, you would tell Thorin you love him and… 

Your daggers land in the Pale Orc’s shoulder blades. You hold on for dear life. His roar of pain nearly deafens you but you hold on still. Ripping one blade from his body you jab it at his neck. He grabs the back of your coat and pulls you away, you scratch him but nothing more. He lifts you into the air and looks into your eyes. The rage is still there, along with smugness, bloodlust, curiosity, and then - shock. His grip loosens and you fall to the ground. 

You scramble away from him, grasping the ice with shaking hands. You stand and turn. Azog is still, frozen in time. Except now, there is a sword piercing his chest. Right where his heart should be, protrudes a sword you know very well. 

Azog grips the blade and looks at you, then falls. He doesn’t get up.

Behind him stands Thorin, looking mightier than you’ve ever seen him. His hair is a mess and there is blood on his face and hands. Yet he’s never looked better. You run towards him and throw yourself into his arms. A laugh escapes you and you let yourself feel for a moment. Feel grateful, and scared and everything you’ve been holding back for the past few days. 

Thorin’s grip on you is strong and you can feel the tremor in his hands as he guides them up and down your back.

“You saved me.” His deep timber pulls you from your thoughts. “Why?”

“I made a promise to Gan-”

“No, you fulfilled your pledge to the Wizard the moment we made it to the mountain, yet you stayed. Why?” Thorin pulls his chest away from yours and attempts to catch your gaze with his.

“Is this really the time?” You ask. 

“When else?” He cocks his head to the side.

“Perhaps after the battle is over?” You fully pull away from him then. 

Thorin pauses, perhaps like you, he had briefly forgotten the battle warring on below you in a moment of joy. But he nods to you and walks back toward the lifeless body of your foe. He rips his sword out of the body. He flips Azog onto his back so his lifeless eyes gaze emptily at the sky. Thorin turns to you, “Perhaps you should look away.” he addresses you.

You simply raise an eyebrow at him. He nods and grasps the sword firmly. From one moment to the next Thorin separates Azog’s head from his body. He takes hold of it and walks towards the edge of the frozen lake, which looks out onto the field below. 

He lets out a mighty shout and hoists the fallen orc’s head into the air. Shrieks echo from below and the enemy begins to retreat. 

You’ve won.

Thorin drops his head and turns to face you, a rare smile graces his face and for the first time since you met him, it truly seems like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders, for at least a moment.

It takes you three seconds to get in front of him, one second to grab ahold of his head, and another to kiss him. Five seconds, five seconds of bravery that you will probably never be able to muster again.

Thorin kisses you back with fervor, gripping you as through he thought you might fade away. Eventually, the need for air separates you. 

“That is why I saved you,” you whisper into the space between you, “because a life without you in it is one I do not wish to bear.”

“You’ll never have to.” is his reply before his mouth is on you again. Where the first kiss was full of passion, a burst of adrenaline between two people. This one is slow, like Thorin is savoring the moment like he is trying to memorize what it is like to have you. The moment is bliss, it's everything you wanted and thought you couldn’t have. 

And then it is ruined. A sharp whistle and laugh from across the lake separates the two of you once more. You turn and see Fili and Kili, holding each other and worse for wear but alive and smiling which you’ll take as a win.

The boys make their way towards you, Thorin never releases his hold on your waist.

“Is it over?” Fili asks.

‘It is now.” Thorin responds.

“Now what?” Kili pops up. Scanning the area around him.

‘We live.” Is your simple reply. Like Kili, you take a moment to look around you. And you really like what you see.

[shirefantasies]

𓇢𓆸 The Hobbit Masterlist 𓇢𓆸

(All works are x GN!Reader unless otherwise specified!)

☆ = Personal Favorite

ღ = Suggestive

꩜ = Humor

𖠋 = Parent AU

☮ = Platonic

Reactions/Scenarios

How Thorin’s Company Act Around Their Crush

Thorin’s Company When You Call Everyone Pet Names ☆

Thorin's Company + Physical Affection ☆

Fiery, Fierce, Fabulous!

The Hobbit Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version) ღ

Things You Do Together ☆

Showing the Company Your Tattoos ღ

How Many Kids Do They Want? ☆𖠋

When You Have a Buzzcut

Trichotillomania ☆

Calling Thorin’s Company Pretty

Taking Care of You When Injured ღ☆

How Thorin’s Company Would Set You Up With Someone ღ꩜☮

What Type of Kisser Are The Hobbit Characters? ☆

The Hobbit Characters’ Favorite Body Part of Yours

Thorin’s Company When You Have Really Long Hair

The Hobbit Characters Finding Out You Were in an Abusive Relationship ☆

Thorin’s Company + Your Fear of Heights

The Hobbit Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader) 𖠋

Thorin’s Company When You Tell Them the Legend of Brísingamen (F!Reader) ꩜ღ☆

The Hobbit Characters Meeting Your First Child Together (Wife!Reader) 𖠋☆

Coming Out to Thorin’s Company as a Lesbian (F!Reader) ☮

Your First Kiss With The Hobbit Characters ☆

Thorin’s Company + Reader With Mobility Aids

The Hobbit Characters’ Favorite Sleeping Positions

One-Shots

Mission of Misunderstanding- Kili x F!Human!Reader ☆

Not Here- Bilbo x F!Sick!Reader ☆ღ

Chains of Flesh- Azog the Defiler x GN!Human!Reader ☆

Roots Running Deep- Balin x F!Witch!Reader ☆

Silly ‘Ol Bear- Bombur x F!Dwarrow!Reader

Breathe You In- Feren x Elf!Reader (Drabble)

See Me- Kili x GN!Reader (Drabble)

This Means War- Elrond x Wife!Reader (Drabble) ☆

Little Flower- Beorn x F!Shy!Reader ☆

Clear As Mud- Ori x F!Reader ꩜

I Now Pronounce You…Confused- Bofur x F!Reader ☆

‘Cuz’ of Death- Fili x F!Hobbit!Reader ☆

You Underestimate Me- Fili x F!Human!Reader (Drabble) ☆

The Hobbit Headcanons

A Headcanon for Each Company Member

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

The Wandering Widow

Chapter 12

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: while recovering from the close call with Azog, you and the rest of the company seek shelter in a nearby tavern. unfortunately, it happens to be a tavern you have a lot of history with. will your traveling companions discover the connection between you and the seedy tavern?

Warnings: no use of y/n, angst, 18+, NSFW, minors do not interact, attempted fingering, brief descriptions of bloody wounds/injuries

Author's Note: This one ended up being a looong chapter but the next few installments include scenes I've been excited about writing for a while😊 I've already started writing the next one so hopefully it shouldn't take too long to post! Thank you so much to everyone who has already shown so much support to the previous chapters. It really makes my day getting to read all of your sweet comments😘

Word count: 3473

You’re vaguely aware of the sun shining down on your face, warming your skin. You squint at the bright light before the sun is blocked out by a shadowy form standing over you. It calls out your name and you groan in response.

“Am I dead?” you ask and the shadow laughs. “Not for lack of trying,” Kili says and you peel an eye open to squint at him.

“Thorin?” Kili nods to where the others are sitting a few feet away from you. You turn your head to see Gandalf crouching over a still-unconscious Thorin. Before you can start to panic, the wizard waves a hand over his face and Thorin jolts awake. He calls out your name hoarsely and Gandalf motions to where you still lay.

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “she’s just fine.”

Dwalin and Gandalf help him to his feet and Kili brings a gentle hand to your back as you sit up.

Shaking off the help, Thorin takes a few steps closer, towering over you. He extends a hand out, and while you would normally wave it off, this time you let yourself take it. Sliding your hand into his you let him pull you to your feet until you’re standing face to face.

He takes a step back, keeping his hand intertwined in yours as he looks you over head to toe.

Your head is still throbbing from where you were knocked to the ground. Thorin’s gaze falls on the wound, his eyes widening in concern.

“I’m fine,” you assure him before he can overreact. Especially considering he’s in much worse shape than you are.

“You could have died,” he whispers hoarsely, brows furrowing in concern.

“Well you made almost getting killed by an orc look like so much fun,” you shrug, “I thought I’d join you.”

He shakes his head with a sigh, clearly satisfied you can’t be too badly injured if your sense of humor is still intact.

Reluctantly he drops your hand, stepping around you to address a relieved-looking hobbit.

“And you,” he snaps, “what were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!”

Bilbo blinks in shock. “Did I not say that you would be a burden?” he continues, stalking closer to the hobbit. “That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?”

Bilbo drops his gaze sadly and you’re about to give Thorin another head injury when he continues.

“I have never been so wrong in all my life,” Thorin sighs, enveloping the hobbit in a warm embrace.

“You saved my life, you saved her life,” he gestures to you with a rare smile.

“But I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, I would have doubted me too,” Bilbo assures him. “I’m not a hero or a warrior. Not even a burglar.”

You laugh and step forward to give the hobbit’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as the eagles fly off overhead with the sunrise.

Thorin suddenly goes still beside you. You follow his gaze over Bilbo’s shoulder and gasp.

“Is that what I think it is?” Bilbo asks as you all walk closer to the edge of the cliff. Gazing in awe at the single solitary peak sitting on the horizon.

“Erebor,” Gandalf confirms. ��The lonely mountain, the last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

“Our home,” Thorin smiles and looks over at you, a warm feeling blooming in your chest as he interlaces your fingers with his again.

You don’t tear your gaze from his until a chirping noise catches your attention as a dark bird glides overhead, seemingly headed to the same place as the rest of you.

“A raven!” Oin exclaims. “The birds are returning to the mountain!"

“That my dear, Oin,” Gandalf corrects, “is a thrush.”

“But we’ll take it as a sign,” Thorin says from beside you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “A good omen.”

“You’re right,” Bilbo agrees, “ I do believe the worst is behind us.”

“I should hope so,” you sigh. “I for one don’t think I could stomach seeing one more orc until I’ve gotten at least a few ales in me.”

“We should find lodging in a tavern tonight,” Thorin agrees, “somewhere we can rest before continuing our journey.”

“Oh no!” you gasp turning to face him fully.

“Oin did you hear that?” you call out to the healer. “Thorin just agreed with me, it must be worse than we thought.”

The rest of the company chuckles as you all start to gather your things.

“I do believe The Wandering Widow is only a few miles from us,” Gandalf supplies. You freeze at the name, looking up to see the wizard giving you a mischievous grin.

Of course, you mutter to yourself, why wouldn’t Gandalf know your connection to that specific tavern?

You narrow your eyes at the wizard, daring him to reveal what he knows to the rest of the group. He just gives you a conspiratory wink and continues down the rocky path.

That wizard had better keep his mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The tavern is exactly as you remember it.

It’s been a few years since you last set foot on the booze-soaked floorboards, but not a single thing has changed since then. The decor is exactly the same, with the smell of mead and stale smoke still lingering in the air.

Even after all this time, you know there’s still a chance that the staff will recognize you. So you elect to disappear among your kin, sticking close to the group with your hood pulled over your head and your gaze cast downwards.

Gandalf split off from the group upon your arrival, volunteering himself to haggle with the owner over reserving rooms for all of you.

“He’s been gone awhile,” Bilbo remarks from behind the large mug of ale set in front of him. He took all of one sip of the drink before trying to surreptitiously slide the drink further away from him without anyone noticing.

“I’ll go check on him,” Balin offers, sliding his chair back.

“No,” you stop him, “I’ll go, I could use another drink anyways,” you lie.

While it is true you’re not nearly as drunk as you’d like to be, you suspect you already know the reason for the delay.

You can feel Thorin’s eyes on the back of your head as you go, reluctantly pulling off your hood as you duck out of the room.

Your mood has noticeably shifted with the anxiety over returning to this tavern with the company in tow. Thorin made no mention of your change in mood during the journey here, but you know he's noticed by the way you keep catching him watching you with that concerned look in his eyes.

Thankfully he doesn’t bring it up. Either because he’s too relieved you’re both alive to pick a fight right now or because he can sense how badly you’d like to avoid this conversation with him right now.

You can hear the raised voices before you even push the door open.

Sure enough, the wizard is in a very heated argument with the tavern owner.

“Have you gone mad?! No establishment in all of Middle Earth would charge that much per night!”

“Well, good luck finding another establishment willing to accommodate that many dwarves at once.” Grumbles the red-faced proprietor. “1500 a night. Take it or leave it.”

“Bertram Blackwood,” you sigh dramatically from the doorway, “are you trying to take advantage of my friend here?”

Both of the men turn to look at you in surprise. Bertram whispers your name in surprise.

“As I live and breathe,” he chuckles dryly. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you anytime soon. Not since you disappeared like a thief in the night.”

“I didn’t actually steal anything,” you remind him, “I only took the money I was owed.”

“Took a lot more than that,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, “lost a lotta my regular customers when my headlining act up and left.”

“Yes I do recall hearing lots of complaints across the land when a famous tavern dancer suddenly stopped performing,” Gandalf chuckles.

How he was able to figure out that was you, is a mystery you aren’t prepared to solve right now.

“I’m afraid I was presented with an opportunity I couldn’t refuse. But that’s not important right now. Perhaps, you’d be willing to give my friends and me a discount? For old time's sake?”

You bat your eyelashes and try to give Bertram your most charming smile.

He just scoffs at your attempts. “If you want to bring ‘old times’ into it, it’s just gonna cost you more, girl.”

“We’ve been traveling for some time now, and many of us are injured,” Gandalf pleads, trying to appeal to his emotional side. You should have explained to the wizard that Bertram Blackwood has no emotions to appeal to.

“You think you’re the first to show up on my doorstep with some sob story? You don’t stay at The Wandering Widow for a vacation, you stay when everything else has gone to shit.”

“Okay, okay,” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “What if we pay you the regular rate and…” you huff reluctantly, “I’ll put on an encore performance while we’re here.”

A triumphant smile creeps onto Bertram’s face and Gandalf raises a brow in surprise.

“But!” you stare them both down, “you both have to swear that you won’t breathe a word of this to the others. Especially, Thorin.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

After swearing them both to secrecy and paying for the rooms, you and Gandalf return to the others with arms full of ale.

“Everything alright?” Thorin asks the both of you as you slide another drink over to him.

“It is now,” you assure him, as you bring another mug to your lips.

“The owner was trying to overcharge us but we handled it. We’ll have several rooms for the next few nights.”

He nods tersely and goes to reach for the ale you set in front of him.

As soon as he lifts his arm he visibly flinches in discomfort, reminding you that hours ago a warg tried to turn him into a chew toy.

“Have you had Oin look at those bites yet?” you ask and he nods over to where Oin and several other dwarves are slumped against the table, surrounded by several empty tankards of ale. “Our healer seems otherwise engaged at the moment.”

“I can do it,” you offer, not wanting to see him pushing through the pain any longer.

He raises a brow, unsure about your healing abilities. And rightfully so after all your botched attempts to patch the both of you up as children when you were out getting into trouble.

“I can at least dress it for you,” you assure him, “so it doesn’t get infected. It’s not like I’m offering to perform surgery or anything.”

“As long as you promise not to use any sharp objects near me,” he grumbles, slowly rising from the table with a groan.

“I’m afraid I can make no such promises,” you sigh, leading him up the stairs to your rooms.

“As long as I don’t lose a limb I suppose you can’t make things worse,” you glare over your shoulder at him, and the small smirk he tries to hide as he climbs up the stairs behind you.

Reaching the end of the hallway, you push open the door to a spacious bedroom. Thorin closes the door behind you with a click as you shrug off your cloak.

It's only then that you realize what you’ve just volunteered yourself for. The two of you are now alone for the first time since… he convinced you to end your survival fast using sexual favors.

And if memory serves, the warg bit him around the midsection which means… “You’ll have to take off your shirt,” you instruct him, purposefully trying to avoid making eye contact.

Instead you busy yourself by digging through your discarded bag, searching for the tinctures and bandages you might need.

Taking a shaky breath you finally turn to face him, biting your bottom lip absentmindedly at the sight of him pulling his shirt overhead. His back is still to you and you let your eyes trace the corded muscles of his back.

You’re so lost in thought that you forget to avert your gaze as he turns to face you. He smirks when he catches you watching him. “See something you like?”

You roll your eyes, strolling closer to him with your arms full of medical supplies.

“Just sit down,” you grumble, tossing the items onto the bedside table before giving his shoulder a gentle shove until he sits down in front of you.

Your fingers absentmindedly run down his chest as you assess the wound at his midsection. Teeth marks line his abdomen in a semi-circle, still red and angry.

You bite down on your lip again, not expecting it to be this bad. It's a miracle he walked all the way down the mountain without showing any signs of distress. Whatever healing Gandalf used to bring him back to consciousness must have helped to keep the discomfort to a minimum.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” you mumble, walking across the room to dip a clean rag in the basin of hot water. If he hadn’t been wearing several heavy layers that warg would have bitten right through him.

“As are you,” he reminds you, wincing when you gently bring the damp rag to the edge of his wound. Bringing your free hand to his shoulder, you step closer to Thorin. Until you’re standing directly between his legs.

When you bring the rag back to the edge of the wound he tries to jerk away again. But this time you maintain a firm grasp on his shoulder to keep him in place.

He clenches his jaw and his hands snake up your thighs to rest on your hips. Fingers dig deeper into your flesh with every stroke of the cloth. His grip is so strong it should be painful, but instead you have to suppress a moan at the feeling of Thorin's fingers bruising your skin.

“I haven’t yelled at you yet,” he grinds out, trying to distract himself from the pain.

“You yelled at the hobbit,” you remind him, “isn’t that close enough?”

He lets out a weak laugh as you set the cloth down and pick up the tin of salve beside you.

“You jumped in first,” he grunts as your sticky fingertips brush against his skin. “He was just following your lead.”

“I suppose,” you hum absentmindedly.

“It was reckless,” he grumbles.

“Mmhmm,” you apply the rest of the salve to the wound.

“You almost died right in front of me,” he reminds you.

“I know, I was there,” you reach for the bandages, beginning to wrap his wound.

“I almost lost you,” he whispers, “I- you can’t do something that dangerous again.”

Your fingers go still on the bandages and you look up at his face.

“Why do you think I did it in the first place? Out of boredom? You were the one who ran head first into the jaws of a warg, did you think I was going to just sit back and watch you lose your head?”

“Is losing your own head any better?” he narrows his eyes at you.

“This is the part where you thank me for quite literally sticking my neck out for you.” You tie off the bandage at his midsection a little tighter than necessary before tossing the excess off to the side. “Is it really so hard to accept help when you need it Thorin?”

Crossing your arms over your chest you level a steely glare at him.

You expect him to return the look, but instead he just reaches for the discarded rag beside you. Brushing your hair out of your face, he lifts the rag up to your head. You try to jerk yourself away but his free hand is still at your hip and he holds you firmly in place.

“Is it really so hard to accept help when you need it?” he throws your words back at you and you relent with an irritated huff.

He gently wipes all the blood and dirt from your face. Removing all the evidence from your most recent brush with death. As if it will be enough to make either of you forget you almost died in each other's arms. The only time you want to be lying on top of Thorin like that is in a much different scenario.

A scenario you can't help but imagine, now that you're alone together again.

As Thorin focuses on cleaning your face, you focus on studying his. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he cleans the head wound.

Thorin stills when he catches you watching him, and you don’t bother to divert your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that, lass,” he growls in warning.

“Or what?” you tilt your head at him, the edges of your mouth quirking up into a smirk.

He remains still as a statue under your challenging gaze. You slowly glide your hands up his bare chest, wrapping your arms around your neck. He growls your name under his breath, nostrils flaring as he tries to restrain himself from taking the bait.

You know it's probably not the best time for it. You’re both injured, and it’s been a very long day. But that only seems further reason for the two of you to release the tension on each other.

You lean forward to rest your forehead against his and he drops the cloth, encircling his arms around your waist.

“Can you tell me what you’re sitting on right now, my king?” you whisper.

“A bed,” he grumbles as you gently press your lips against his forehead.

“And do you recall what you said would happen the next time we came across a bed?” you pull back to look at his face and his eyes darken at the memory of the last time your limbs were entangled together like this.

“I only said I would fuck you in a bed,” he smirks up at you, “I didn’t say it would be the next one.”

“Suit yourself,” you sigh dramatically, “I’ll just have to ask someone else.” You go to pull away from him and with a low growl, he yanks you right back in until you’re practically in his lap. He releases a hand from your waist to grip your jaw, pulling your face down to his.

“There will be no one else,” he growls before crashing his lips against yours.

You moan against the kiss before bringing your hands up to his shoulders, giving him a gentle shove back onto the bed. You break your lips from his to crawl your way up his body. Careful to not jostle the wound at his abdomen.

You’re about to seat yourself on Thorin’s lap when he suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, flipping you both over so he is towering above you.

Burying his face in your hair, he slowly glides his tongue against the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. Playfully biting at your skin you wrap your arms around his neck again, pulling him down closer to you with a deep moan.

Thorin's free hand brushes against your side, tracing the curves of your body all the way down to your ass. “Did you really think I would pass up an opportunity to have you all to myself?”

He snakes a hand down your trousers, cupping the heat between your legs. You tighten your arms around his neck, keeping your bodies glued together as he starts to tease your dripping entrance.

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “You’re all mine tonight,” he whispers before plunging a finger all the way inside of you.

You open your mouth in surprise, a cry of pleasure traveling up from your diaphragm. But before it can pass your lips you’re interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open.

You both jump at the intrusion, turning to see Kili and Fili standing frozen in the doorway with eyes wide. “Uhhh,” Kili’s jaw goes slack as he grips a bloodied rag in his hand. “Kili, uh, sliced his hand on a broken bottle,” Fili mumbles trying to look anywhere but at the two of you. “Balin said you were already patching up Thorin so we thought…”

With a heavy sigh, you let your head fall back against the pillow beneath you, looking up at Thorin. He narrows his eyes at you, subtly shaking his head.

“Come on in,” you grumble across the room, reluctantly pushing Thorin off of you.

Next

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline @enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog

@exhausted-humxn-being @marsmallow433 @sverdgeir

@champagne-glamour@yve-barr @krampus236 @nerdthickly

@lyl1pad @bruhk @eri-s-big-sis

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Seven: From Now On

The battle is upon you.

and we will come back home, and we will come back home. home again.

-From Now On (From “The Greatest Showman”), Peter Hollens

Stray shafts of pale dawn light peek through the tent flaps. You haven’t slept a wink, cradling a cold cup of tea in your lap. You’d downed three already, chasing the rush of caffeine to get you through whatever is to come. The others would not hear of you participating in the battle in any fashion. It’s frustrating, though you know in your heart that they’re right—the battlefield is no place for a pregnant woman. Still, you felt a twinge of dismay when Fíli left you in the tent to go practice some battle techniques.

Gandalf sits across from you, stirring his own cup. “So,” he begins lightly, “how long have you and Fíli…?”

You gulp, dreading the conversation in fear of judgment. “Since Rivendell,” you say quietly. “Everything happened so fast. We didn’t know if we’d ever get the chance to have a real life together. But maybe now…”

“Does this mean you no longer seek a way to return to your own world?”

That’s not the direction you expected the discussion to go. “I hadn’t thought of that.” You search within yourself, as if rummaging around in your very soul. “But I don’t think I can anymore—if I ever could.”

Gandalf raises an eyebrow.

“When I first came here, I felt this… this pull within me. As if some part of me was missing, like I left part of myself back in my own world. Like maybe I would wake up back at my campsite at any second. But now, I don’t feel that anymore.” You pause. That’s only partly true, isn’t it? You haven’t felt that pull in a long time. Not since you discovered you were pregnant. Your eyes grow misty. “All of me is here now. I… I don’t belong there anymore.” It’s painful to say aloud.

Gandalf seems to understand your conflicted feelings, reaching out a hand to pat your knee. “I’m sure you will be well looked after here in Middle Earth,” he comforts you. “Fíli seems quite proud.”

You smile weakly. “He is. Kíli too, for his part. I just hope Thorin–”

“Y/N! Y/N, Fíli, where are you?”

A shout rings out from outside the tent. You leap up and dash from the tent, recognizing the voice of Ori. The young dwarf in his ill-fitting armor huffs and puffs as he jogs toward you.

Fíli sheathes his sword, stepping forward and putting an arm out to shield you—just in case. “Ori? What are you doing here?”

Ori bends over, hands on his knees. “Thorin… Thorin wants you back… both of you,” he wheezes. “He… says he’s sorry… wants you by his side…”

Gandalf emerges from the tent. “Has the King Under the Mountain regained his senses, then?”

Before Ori can reply, you hear a tremendous roar from the gates of the Lonely Mountain. The troops of Dáin, who had arrived during the night, raise up their weapons. Even from far across the field, you hear them clearly. “Oakenshield! Oakenshield!” they chant jubilantly.

Fíli looks at Gandalf. “I think that’s your answer.” He dashes into the tent and grabs your bag, looping it over your shoulders. “Come on, then!”

Gandalf stops you with a hand. “Y/N. Are you sure this is wise?”

You swallow. “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” you admit. “But I’m not staying here if I can be with my… my family.”

He withdraws his hand. “Then move with haste and caution, and give my regards to the king.”

You nod, squeezing Fíli’s arm and falling into line behind Ori, who keeps adjusting his helm awkwardly as you make your way towards Erebor. The shadow of the mountain looms over you, and you shiver. Fíli rubs his hand up and down your back comfortingly. “We’re going home for good, Y/N,” he whispers. “I promise.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a rumbling interrupts you. From the north, you see them approaching, armor clanging and weapons beating against shields. The army of Azog.

A look of horror dawns on Fíli’s face. The three of you break into a sprint, as fast as you can manage. When you arrive at the wall, a rope falls down in front of you. Nori’s face peers down from the rampart. “Up, quick!”

You stare at the rope, then up at him, gesturing to your belly helplessly.

Fíli rolls his eyes and crouches down. “Come on,” he grunts.

You wrap your arms around his neck in an awkward piggy-back, clinging on for dear life as he slowly clambers up the wall. Just as you feel like your arms are about to give out, Nori’s hands grab yours and haul you over the rampart. “Welcome back, lass.”

“Where are the others?” Fíli puffs.

Nori waves down to the ground, where you can see Thorin and the rest of the Company at the front gate, their communion with Dáin interrupted by the approaching orc army. A thrill of hope and terror fills your heart when you glimpse Bilbo’s tiny figure among them.

“Y/N.” Fili grips your shoulders and kisses you firmly, fingers running along your courting braid. “I must fight.”

Throat tight, you nod. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He flashes you a smirk. “I would never!” Fingering your bead one last time, he turns and rushes down the stairs into the tower, grumbling something about climbing up the wall just to go back down. Nori follows.

Ori looks at your hair with delight. “You have a braid! And a bead! Congratulations, Y/N!” He chuckles. “Dori owes me—I wagered Fíli would propose before November’s end.”

You smile, but it fades quickly as a trumpets sounds below you. The orc army is near now, and the combined men, elvish, and dwarven forces surge forward with a roar, Thorin at the head. A tiny blonde head bobs and weaves through the ranks, Fíli hastening to join his brother and uncle. You lift your hand as if he could see you.

Ori taps your shoulder and thrusts a crossbow into your arms. “Just in case.”

“Aren’t you joining them?”

He shakes his head. “We’re the defensive forces,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly.

Great.

You never realized how loud a battle really was—even though you had to adjust the volume when watching the movies as they bounced back and forth between quiet dialogue and triumphant fights. Up on the wall, it’s mostly calm, though you get the occasional shot in at a few particularly dimwitted orcs who stray too close.

You’re sitting against the wall when you hear it—a loud roar of rage, far too close. Scrambling to your feet, you peer down. At the base of the wall, among a circle of corpses, stand Thorin and Azog. Your heart leaps in your throat. Just like in the movie, just like in your dream, Azog drags Fíli by the collar. Hardly thinking, you grip your crossbow shakily and level it at the enormous orc. But you’re no skilled archer, and this is no ordinary foot soldier; your shot lands at his feet. It draws Azog’s attention, though, and he looks up at the mountain. You load another bolt, struggling against the draw weight. Ori lends you his strength, and the arrow snaps into place. The distraction gives Fíli enough of a window to stab at the arm holding him, causing the orc to drop him reflexively. Fíli rolls away quickly and springs to his feet, taking his place at Thorin’s side. Kíli is there too, bow already drawn and aimed, but Thorin holds out an arm to stop him. This is his fight.

The dwarven king and Azog circle each other slowly. It’s hard to see what’s going on from the wall—you can’t bear it any longer.

“Y/N! Where are you going?” Ori cries as you sprint down the stairs, dashing through the halls from the tower to the gates.

Snow stings your face, and vomit rises up in your throat at the smell of death all around. You push past it, pressing your back against the wall to remain unseen. I just need to see what happens, you tell yourself. No closer.

Thorin and Azog still haven’t attacked each other, but Azog has gained a flail since you made it down to the battlefield. He spits something in Orcish that you don’t recognize, lashing out with his sword arm. Thorin ducks under the swing, slashing at the orc’s torso. Azog twists away and brings down his flail. He narrowly misses the dwarf and snarls in frustration. Blood spatters the snow from the stab Fíli inflicted.

Your breath shakes. They’re so close, so, so close. With sweaty hands, you raise your crossbow again, aiming right for the orc’s back, and fire. This time your arrow flies true and buries itself in the meat of Azog’s shoulder. He growls and whips around, tiny eyes pinpointing you against the wall. He takes a great, lumbering step forward.

Shit shit shit.

But as the giant orc approaches you, a little hobbit appears from thin air, throwing himself at Azog’s feet and causing him to stumble. The orc barely has time to register what’s beneath him before a blade rips through his chest. It withdraws and plunges through again and again with a fury until Azog sinks to a knee with a bloody gurgle. And suddenly, a jagged line appears across the orc’s neck, and his head drops to the ground with a wet thud. He remains upright for a heartbeat before collapsing.

Thorin plants his boot on top of the orc’s body, breathing heavily and gripping a glistening, bloody Orcrist. He spits on Azog’s corpse and raises his sword with a triumphant shout. “For Thrain! For Thror! For Erebor!”

The raging battle around you pauses, orcs and goblins gaping at their headless general. Somewhere, one shouts, and they start a hasty retreat. Bodies drop among them as elvish arrows pierce their armor and dwarven axes cleave through their helmets, leaving few to escape the battlefield intact.

Thorin lifts his head and meets your eyes. He lowers his sword and begins to approach, but stumbles as Fíli pushes past him in a sprint.

“What are you doing down here, ghivashel?” he scolds breathlessly, crushing you in his embrace.

You cling to him as if your life depends on it. “Saving your idiot uncle,” you choke out.

Kíli picks Bilbo up and brushes the hobbit off, mussing up his hair. “That was stupid of the two of you,” he says with a grin, pushing Bilbo forward. He embraces you tightly as well.

You squeeze your eyes shut against tears.

“Y/N.”

They blink open as Kíli releases you.

Thorin’s face is battered and dirty, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead. “I owe you my deepest apologies.”

Instead of replying, you reach out and wipe the blood away from his brow. “You look awful,” you reply with a wobbly smile.

He pauses, then smiles and claps you on the shoulder. “We did it, Y/N. Welcome home.”

[knight-of-flowerss]

The hobbit

Thorin x hobbit reader

Reader is bilbos older badass sister who kills anything and anybody with her cast iron pan.

So we know dwarfs don’t get pregnant much, an basically rare to have girls, so how would the others react to reader (everyone lives au) telling thorin she’s pregnant after the battle, now hobbits are small so one imagining they have have up to 4 kids at once and be ok, probably even expected.

So when the dwarfs and surprise her (and bilbo the soon to be uncle along with lady Dis) with her finished nursery, and after the excitement, reader asks were the rest of the cribs are!!!

…

The dwarfs ask what she means and she an bilbo say that hobbits give birth to more then one child, so I wanna see there reactions (including Dis) when reader says she’s pregnant with 4 children I wanna know the reactions of the grate thorin and the fearsome Dwalin!

Bounes if you add when the babies are born (3 girls and 1 boy ) and the reaction of the company

thorin screaming “I can’t hold them all I need more arms or bigger ones!! 😭😭😭”

OMG YES I LOVE THIS SMMMMM ITS SO CUTE AHAHAHHA!!!! I opened this at like 10 o’clock at night so I was tired so I’ve don’t it today after school so I had more time and it didn’t sound loopy 💀

This hasn’t been spell checke btw!

Masterlist

Happy Ending

Anyone’s name: this colour and in bold

Thorin Oakenshield x Hobbit!Reader

You’re little brother Bilbo has always really only kept to himself, occasionally having relatives (but never distant because he doesn’t trust them around his cutlery) around Bag End.

You were his daring older sister, never afraid of anything, selfless, badass. You were staying at your brothers while your burrow got a new door. You offered to help but the other hobbits refused as they were paying you a favour.

You and your brother sat in shock as twelve dwarfs and a wizard wrecked Bilbo’s house. But after the table was set you soon forgot all about it, your brother on the other hand..

When a dwarf named Thorin showed up you couldn’t help but stare at him. He was your height, had long, dark locks and eyes so beautiful that you could get lost in them with just one glance. And when they proposed Bilbo come on this journey with them you immediately invited yourself along.

The journey was harrowing, fighting off ogres, goblins, orcs. Then there was the ‘final battle’ against Azog and his army. It was tough but it was no match for the dwarves and their resilience.

They fought with all there might, defeating the army and Azog and returning home safely.

For almost half a year now, you and Thorin had been married. Half a year of pure joy. And surprises.

You felt sick as a dog for almost 3 weeks now, your body weak. Dís, Thorin’s sister, suspected something was wrong and encouraged you to go and see a doctor of some kind. It had been confirmed though that it wasn’t any fatal illness, nothing of the sort.

You and Thorin where actually expecting.

The two of you were estatic, jumping for joy, but a little bit inside of you was sacred, terrified even. You knew what this meant. You knew you had to push out multiple of the little creatures miracles. But you would go through all that pain for Thorin.

As the months passed your belly grew and grew, never stopping, even for just a moment. The dwarves and your brother offered to help build a nursery for the little lad inside you (they assumed it was a boy because of the very low chances of a little baby girl popping out), at first you tried to help them but they just brushed you off and told you to relax, so, you hesitantly accepted the offer.

While they moved everything into the nursery and decorated it, you took a nap (which ended up being like 3 hours but we don’t talk abt that-). When you woke up you saw Bilbo and the side of you, reaching to wake you up.

You jumped as you hadn’t expected him to be there.

“Bilbo! What are you doing here?!” You whispered-shouted through gritted teeth. “Uh- the nursery- um, it’s ready.” Bilbo stutters, clearly shocked that you wanted to shout at him.

Bilbo helped you up as you where weaker and your belly put more and more pressure on your back.

You stood at the doorway as Dís and Bilbo pushed the doors open with big smiles. In the room stood Oin, Glóin, Dori, Ori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dwalin, Balin, Fíli, Kíli and stood in the middle with a soft smile one his face was your dear husband, Thorin.

You slowly stepped into the room looking around. Little toys on shelves, a play area with a fur rug, a changing station, one crib and more.

When you had finally reached your lover, you turned to him with a raised eyebrow and a cocked head.

“One crib? Really?”

Thorin looked a tad confused, “what do you mean my love? What is the babe supposed to rest in?”

“I think you mean babes.” You replied with a smirk. A bunch of ‘eh?’s where muttered around the room while Bilbo suppressed a chuckle.

Thorin sat with a half confused, half shocked face. “Whatever do you mean my love?..”, “you do know Hobbits have multiple children, do you not?”

Thorin’s eyes widened as your words registered in his head. “What-..”

The pregnancy was terrible, horrendous even, but your spirits where high when Thorin was by your side. You had given him four children, 3 girls and a boy.

(I got the last two names from a D&D website for dwarf names cus I couldn’t think of owt 💀)

Your little boy was named Thráin (III) after his father. Your first girl was called Dísa after Thorin’s sister Dís. Your second girl was named Arrin, meaning ‘exalted’ and ‘lofty’ and your last little girl was named Asta, meaning ‘divine strength’ , ‘love’ and ‘star-like’, she was named this due to her being the hardest out of them all to give birth to and that you and Thorin nearly lost her.

You and Thorin are sat on a couch in the children’s room with a fur blanket o top of yous while your four little toddlers play with eachother with wooden and plush toys.

You lean your head on Thorin’s shoulder as you look at your children and then up at your lover, who was already staring at you. “I am so grateful for the children you have brought me, love. You have made me a father, you a mother and all of us a family, I am forever in your debt my queen, I love you.”

You smiled up at your husband, tears welling up in your eyes as you wear a dopey smile on your face, “I love you too my King,”, you lean up and kiss your husband, you couldn’t ask for a better life.

An amazing husband, a gentle son and three graceful daughters, you loved them all so much, you finally had your happy ending.

I hope you like this cus i finished this while I was ill 😭

@thethreeeyed-raven

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Always my beloved; Thorin Oakenshield x reader

*Author’s note*

For my first ever Thorin Oakenshield story I hope I did you Thorin fans justice with this sweet little oneshot. So @firestrike004​ thank you soo much for your patience and I hope you all enjoy this fic.  

Not really any warnings just injuries, some fluff, some angst (fairly minor but still some people need warnings).

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queen-paladin​

@gay-and-ready-to-cry​

____________________________________________________________

We knew the risk of going on this quest, but never did I think we’d come across the bane of Thorin’s family, Azog the Defiler.  We had believed he had died back at the battle of Azanulbizar from his wounds but low and behold there he was astride upon his infamous white warg.  We barely made our escape thanks to our burglar as well as the Great Eagles I had read so much about as a young dwarrow-dam.

Now we decided to take some rest to rest and for Thorin to recover.  The wounds from Azog’s warg were probably the worst I had ever seen and I’ve doctored warg bites before.  But thankfully with both mine and Oin’s help, my beloved should be back to his old strength within a few days.

Aye I did say beloved. Thorin and I are currently in the courting stage of our relationship, and have been for these past 5 summers. He had made a vow to me that once he would reclaim Erebor, we would finally be wed and I would rule at his side as Queen Under the Mountain.

Of course at first when Gandalf had persuaded Thorin to go on this quest, he wanted me to have absolutely no part in it.  In fact he had tried to send me off to live with his cousin Dain in the Iron-hills for safe keeping until the Mountain was reclaimed.  And being the stubborn female dwarf I am, I can be just as stubborn of not more than Thorin Oakenshield himself.

After some heated words, and even a fight to decide my fate, Thorin had kept his word that after defeating him in combat I had a right to go alongside the Quest.  In fact I was one of the first after Dwalin and Balin had agreed to follow Thorin.

I had just changed out Thorin’s bandages as well as flushed out any signs of infections before they could spread and cause his healing to delay or worse make him sick. As I returned to put my stuff back into the pack, I caught sight of Bilbo sitting down to some of Bombur’s stew. I walked over to him and asked.

“Mind if I join you?” he turned to me.

“Not at all (Y/n).” Hobbits truly were polite people.  Even back at his home when I was the only one out of the 13 dwarves to not to help myself to his food cabinet, he graciously tried to offer me something before one of the boys took it for themselves.  I took my seat next to him and he asked, “Do you mind if I—”

“Oh not at all Bilbo, please eat. Mahal knows we’ve been practically starving you since this quest began.” When we were in Rivendell and I caught Bilbo eating both dinner and supper within just a few short hours apart he had told me that Hobbits have seven meals every day.  I took it upon myself to first apologize for starving the poor lad and then when breakfast came that day, I had helped the Elves with serving something not only for the Dwarves but for Bilbo as well.

As he went to his stew, he took a few sips before looking around and whispered to me.

“How’s Thorin?” the lad truly has grown fond of my beloved.  Especially after what had happened along the Misty Mountains.

“He’ll live fortunately. Unfortunately for him, he’ll have to be put on bed rest for the next 24-48hours before he can even move. Warg bites are nothing to sniffle or chuckle at. And believe me getting Thorin to stay on bedrest is a challenge in on itself.”

“No doubt I imagine. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of it being Thorin’s wife.”

“If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve been called Thorin’s widow.” He stopped his eating and looked at me.  I placed my hand on his shoulder and continued, “What you did last night Bilbo, it’s something that I can never truly repay you for.”

“There-there really is no need to repay me. I just did what anyone of you would’ve done. Though I don’t know why I did without no skill of a blade it was all just—”

“Instinct. I get the feeling. But I am grateful nonetheless my friend.” I patted his shoulder.  “And if you’re up for it later today, Bofur and I can show you a thing or two about fighting. Same with Fili and Kili.” He nodded.

“I do appreciate it (Y/n).” I smiled at him before standing up and went off to join the others for my own meal.

Truthfully I don’t know what I would’ve done had I lost Thorin last night.  He and I have known each other since we were young Dwarves in Erebor, my father being one of the King’s proudest and strongest fighters but was sadly killed when the Dragon took our home.  My mother tried her best but she too succumbed to grief leaving me with no family, till Thorin stepped up.

He helped support me when we worked in the villages of Men and when we were finally able to make a temporary home in the Blue Mountains, that’s when my feelings for him began to deepen.  And eventually he came to accept he felt the same for me and never did I think Thorin would ever choose a wife, he never really showed much interest in wanting to court anyone, not since we lost our home.

I reached up to the left side of my hair, brought some of the hair that rested on my back to the front but something was missing.  No it-it cannot be! I looked down at my hair and brushed through it with my fingers and couldn’t see the courting beads Thorin had braided into my hair.  Not only that but some of the strand felt uneven (particularly where the braid once rested).

My heart raced as I tried to remember where and when the last time I felt the braid was. Obviously it was still intact at Rivendell, the Goblin tunnels I still had it, when Azog attacked us and—oh makk an E ha’ak!  When I fought alongside Dwalin, Fili, Kili and Bilbo to hold off the orcs from Thorin before the eagles came, one of them must’ve cut my braid off without my knowing!

A million thoughts were racing through my head.  First it was to curse the orc that did this and that I vowed to kill them if they ever show themselves again.  But most of my thoughts trailed back to Thorin.  What would he say? How will he react? Will he still want to be my One? Will he be furious that I lost his courting bead?

In our customs, a courting bead is so precious and is never given away lightly (especially if your One is someone like Thorin is).  By gaining the bead you’ve not only come to accept your One’s feelings for you, but also accept a courtship and eventual marriage to bond the two of you into one. Losing it or returning it is like having your heart getting grind up, slammed with a forging hammer until it’s nothing but tiny little pieces and then returning the heart to the one who gave you the courting bead.

And never have I once undid the braid nor removed the bead from my hair ever since Thorin gave it to me.  Everyone knew where it lied and if they saw it gone……what would the other’s think? I was so focused on my thoughts that I barely registered that I had walked into someone. When I looked up I had seen that I had walked into Gandalf.

“Oh Gandalf, forgive me.”

“No worries my dear (Y/n).” he looked me over and continued, “You seem to be worried about something.” I looked around to see if any of the others were nearby.  When I saw that no one was within hearing range, I asked Gandalf to come closer to my height with my two fingers.  He knelt down and I whispered to him.

“I’ve lost Thorin’s courtship braid.” He separated from me for a bit as I further explained, “It must’ve been that orc I faced off against when Azog caught us along the Misty Mountains. Gandalf, what if Thorin takes notice of it? Or someone already has and will tell him?”

“Now, now my dear, let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“But Gandalf you know what courting braids mean in our culture. You know what losing one’s courting bead means? I—I can’t lose Thorin. Not again, especially not after last night. He’s all I have left in this world.” He placed both of his hands on my shoulder.

“Thorin may be stubborn but I know he would never do that to you. You both have been through far too much to let something like this be the final straw to divide you both. Remember it’s not just him that’s helped you, you have helped him as well.”

He wasn’t lying. After his grandfather’s death and his father going missing, Thorin was practically lost in how to help our people. Whilst I too, grieved over my father I also had to support Thorin for he was hurting just as much as I was.  We depend on each other and support one another, the other’s beacon of light in the dark mines.

“But how do I tell him Gandalf?” I asked uncertainly.

“You’ll know just what to say my dear girl.” I took a deep breath then exhaled.

“Okay Gandalf, I trust you.”

“And you’ve learned to never doubt it.” He gave me a soft wink before going on his way.  I took a deep breath before heading back to rejoin the others.

The day was spent helping Bilbo train with his sword, scouting out for Azog or his orc pack, and helping Oin with Thorin’s wounds.  Which was what was happening right now, I held onto Thorin’s hand as Oin was once again flushing out the slightly infected bites and stitching them back up. Thorin was tense throughout the whole process.

He never did like to show pain whenever he had to get patched up.  Said he was afraid that others would view him as weak.

“Alright Thorin, just continue to not move about so much and those wounds will heal up quickly.”

“Thank you Oin. I know I’m skilled as a healer but I am nowhere near your degree of knowledge.” I told him.

“Do not doubt your own skills milady.” He told me.  “We’ll be lucky to have you as our Queen once we reclaim the throne. The first Dwarf Queen to be skilled in the knowledge of healing that could be rivaled by the Elves.” Him saying that suddenly gave me an uneasy feeling in my stomach.  As much as I do trust Gandalf in his words from earlier, there’s still a lingering shadow of fear that’s clung itself onto my like a thorn that won’t come out.  He soon left Thorin and I alone and I heard my One say.

“He’s right you know.” I turned to him.  “Never before as a Dwarf woman been so knowledgeable about herbs, healing methods and skills as you have my beloved. Erebor will be lucky to have you as it’s Queen.” He cupped the side of my face, “My only regret is that it will take us longer to get there.”

“Your health is what we should be focused on right now. I would rather Erebor have a King in good health rather than poor or worse dead.” I brushed the long strands of hair from his face before I began braiding it.

“Every hour lost hasten Durin’s day.” I rolled my eyes.

“Thorin. Durin’s day is not going anywhere. It lies on the same day as it always does. Not a week before not a week after. As I said, I would rather have you in good health to rule at my side, than you pushing yourself only to make your health worsen. Even if I have to bind you to this tree I will.”

“Reminds me of the time when you did just that to get me to have me teach you how to fight. Is that how you intend on delivering punishments? Bound the prisoners to trees with your tight knots?”

“Only to those truly stubborn enough not to follow either mine or Doctor Oin’s orders.” We both laughed softly before I gave him a soft kiss.  I felt as his hand went from cupping the side of my face to going around the back of my head, right to where I knew he’d always like to stroke his courting braid.

I separated our kiss and quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from my head.  Immediately I could see the thoughts spinning in his head like a spider’s web.

“What is it (Y/n)?” he asked me.

“Nothing.” I quickly said.

“It’s not nothing. Never before have you stopped me from touching your hair.”

“I—I haven’t had the chance to brush my hair yet.” Even to me that was a pathetic excuse.  Thorin’s brow rose skeptically then he asked me.

“What’s really going on?” I sighed deeply and turned my head away from him.

“I cannot say.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“(Y/n), amrâlimê.” He lifted my chin up to look into his deep blue eyes.  “What was it you once said to me when we first began courting?”

“That there should be no secrets between us.” I answered.

“So why are you starting now?” I sighed heavily, already feeling the wetness of tears forming under my eyes.

“I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That I’ll lose you.”

“(Y/n). These wounds of mine aren’t—”

“It’s not the wounds or in battle that I fear amrâlimê, it’s—” I took another deep breath before I took the section of my hair where he had given his courting bead and showed him how it was now gone.  As I expected his eyes widened in shock as he reached out for the cut strands of my uneven hair and brushed through them.  Almost hoping the bead would reappear along with the braid but it was gone.

“How long has it been missing?” he asked.  His voice stern as I knew he was trying to suppress his anger.

“I only noticed it this morning. My best guess is that it was the orc I was fighting with along the mountainside when Azog ambushed us. I’m sorry Thorin, this is my fault for allowing that foul creature to even graze my hair. I should’ve been more careful I should’ve been more aware of what I was carrying upon my head. I was careless, foolish and—” I was stopped by the feeling of his arms wrapped around me tightly.

“But you are not hurt, yes?”

“No.”

“Then that is enough for me.” I separated our embrace and looked at him in shock, his eyes that were once filled with shock and anger now appeared soft and gentle.

“I don’t understand. Thorin, my courtship braid to you has been severed. Your courting bead lost forever.”

“Mere objects. A new braid can be made, a new bead can be strung into your locks. But there is only one you,” he cupped my face into his hands, his thumbs gingerly stroking the apple of my cheeks just above the strands of my own beard.  “And I could not bear the thought of losing you.”

“You—you still wish to court me?”

“You are my One, (Y/n). Who else would I want as my Queen?”

“I just…..I know how special our courting traditions and symbols are. I was worried if you took notice of your bead and braid missing that you—you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Amrâlimê,” our noses softly grazed one another’s as we stared deeply into each other’s eyes, “I would rather share one lifetime with you, than face all the ages of this world alone. You are my One, and nothing will ever change that. As I said, I can give you a new braid, I’ll find you a new bead. A more finer bead once we reach the mountain and reclaim our home. But there is only one of you. And I would be a fool to let someone like you go.”

He then pressed his forehead to mine and I shut my eyes as I felt his love and strength enter me as our forehead remained together.

“I am sorry I doubted your love Thorin.” I said after awhile of silence between us.

“There is no need for apologizes. You are always be my beloved, no matter what the world gives us…..”

“We’ll always be One.” I finished our vows that we made for one another when we first began our courtship together.  He soon moved his lips over mine and once again we kissed.  

His hand going back towards the area where my braid once stood, and I felt his fingers softly brush through those strands of hair and I felt myself finally relax under his touch.

[lathalea]

The White Raven 7/9

The next chapter of Thorin and Carra's story is here!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Carra Rating: G Warnings: mentions of injuries/death/dragon sickness Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for being a great, great, great beta reader and extra special thanks to Legolasbadass (again!) and @i-did-not-mean-to for our Silm evenings and discussons that helped me write this chapter 💚

Khuzdul: Karkûnê - My Raveness 🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

The tint of Carra’s face closely matched the crispy white colour of the pillowcase beneath it, her silver-white hair scattered across it in disarray. Her eyes were closed, and Thorin held his breath for a heartbeat—before he noticed the slight movements of her chest. 

She was breathing. Still.

Sitting on a makeshift wheeled chair, which Nari, the disgruntled healer, procured from somewhere, Thorin leaned closer towards Carra, biting his lip in an attempt to ignore the pain his protesting body evoked. Another spell of dizziness washed over him again, and his body pleaded for mercy, but he pushed those sensations away. Perhaps Balin and Nari were right, and he should have stayed in bed, but at that moment, Thorin’s own discomfort felt insignificant.

His fingertips brushed against the softness of Carra’s hollow cheek. Her skin was cool under his touch, but warmth still lingered within.

“Carra… Karkûnê…“ he murmured. There was no response. Her eyelids did not flutter to show the iridescent depth of her gaze; her lips did not open to utter his name. She was here, beside him, yet completely out of his reach.

“How long has she been this way?” he asked.

“Since she was brought in here on the day of the battle, Your Majesty,” the healer responded and cast a worried glance at Balin. “Most of her injuries are minor, but she has yet to regain consciousness. We do not know why it takes so long but then again, she is not a Dwarf.”

Thorin thanked him with a nod, and his eyes returned to Carra. Her face and arms were marked with multiple bruises and scarrings—mementos of her confrontation with Azog. He closed his eyes, attempting to get rid of the tightness in his throat. At least a fortnight had passed since the battle ended, and her body seemed to refuse to heal at its regular pace. Throughout the years, he learned how quickly she regenerated; one or two nights should have been enough to cure most of it, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, this did not happen. But…

She was still breathing.

He took her slender hand in his. So soft. So fragile.

“I want my bed moved here,” he turned to the older dwarf, not letting go of her hand.

“Thorin?” Balin raised his eyebrows.

Nari’s stifled cough of surprise reached him at the same time. Thorin chose to ignore it.

“She needs me, Balin,” he looked at Carra’s hand. So delicate in his palm, like a folded wing of a sleeping fledgeling.

The older Dwarf pulled at his beard and cast a meaningful glance at Nari. It was enough to make the healer bow and leave the room, closing the door behind him. Only then did Balin speak again. 

“I assume that you are aware of what message this is going to send, laddie.”

“What message…? I told you, Balin, she is my wife.” Thorin’s eyes wandered to Carra’s peaceful, unmoving face. With his left arm bound up, he had to gently free his right hand and reach into her hair. He let his fingers run through the silver-white strands until he uncovered the marriage braid he had pleated himself. “She watched over us on our way to reclaim Erebor. Now I shall watch over her.”

His mentor sat down on a nearby bench with a grunt, his gaze resting on Thorin’s hand, once again clasped with Carra’s. Thorin could almost feel its weight.

Balin sighed heavily, “There will be trouble with the lords when they hear of it.”

“I have never supported any of their plans of political alliances via marriage as you very well know,” Thorin furrowed his brow.

“Indeed. I still applaud you for how you handled the situation with Lord Yngví and managed to convince Fili to marry Lady Tarja. You killed two birds with one stone!” A shadow of a smile appeared on Balin's lips. “The Firebeards are our strongest allies, and if Mahal blesses the couple with a babe, it will rule over the whole Blue Mountains.”

“It was not a great feat. They were already in love with each other,” Thorin tilted his head.

“But you saw the opportunity and took it,” Balin’s smile grew slightly. “And now it seems I will be the one on the lookout for an opportunity to explain the current situation to the lords. And Dain…”

“She is my One, Balin.” The rasp of his own whisper sounded hollow in the silence of the stone chamber. He had said these words only once before and only to Carra. They were meant to be said not more than once in a lifetime, and it felt wrong to repeat them in this stuffy, dimly lit chamber and not under a star-studded sky with his Raveness in his arms.

His old friend remained silent for a long while. Silent and unmoving, like a stone statue. Thorin avoided looking into his face by turning his attention to Carra’s hand, which he still held. He felt the warmth of his own body seeping through her skin, but it remained cool despite his best efforts.

But she was still breathing. There was still hope, he reminded himself.

“How can it be? She is not a Child of Mahal.” Balin frowned. “She could not have been made from the same piece of stone as you.” “I do not know, Balin,” he shrugged and presented their joined hands to him. “But I do know this: she saved me. Twice. Once—at Rivendell. And the second time… Do you remember my feather, Balin? That is how I overcame the curse. In the darkest hour I took it in my hand. And so I recalled my One—and my true self.”

Thorin glanced at Carra’s face, but it remained unmoving; her eyes closed. 

“My blood sings in my veins whenever she is around. Even now.  It feels almost like when you sing to the stone and it sings back, showing you the hidden veins of ore in its depths.” His voice was but a whisper. “I shall not attempt to understand Mahal’s mysterious ways, but I am certain beyond doubt that she is my Other Half.”

His mentor pulled at his beard once again. “Let us only hope that this explanation will be enough for our people to accept her as their queen. Our kingdom is about to be rebuilt. We need unity, not dissent.”

“You told me once that I have done honourably by our people. That I had a choice… This is my choice. She is. If Carra cannot be accepted, so be it. We have never planned for our secret to see the light of the day and it can remain hidden,” Thorin admitted with conviction. After taking a brief look at her pale face, he addressed Balin once again. “And before you mention the issue of succession, we both know that I have already named Fili as my heir. The lords have no leverage here. I will do all in my power to unite the Seven Kingdoms again, but I will not be parted from Carra. That is my final word on the matter.”

Speaking of a future with Carra, regardless of the shape it would take, felt like a fresh waft of hope. She would wake up—and soon. And then they would keep meeting in hidden forest clearings, secluded valleys, and forgotten caverns, just like they had done for years.

Thorin never noticed when Balin stood up with a grunt. He barely felt his hand patting him on the shoulder.

“Very well, laddie. I will see what I can do about this matter. And now—allow me to leave you be. You have your wife to take care of.”

Thorin’s eyes met Balin’s in an instant. It was impossible to miss neither the softness of his gaze under those white bushy eyebrows nor the warmth in his smile.

“Balin, I…” he began, his voice faltering. Instead, he covered his mentor’s hand with his.

“I know, laddie, I know.” The old dwarf nodded. No other words were needed between them.

At that very moment, something brushed along the inside of Thorin’s palm, as if a butterfly opened its wings.

“Carra!” He brought her hand to his face, hoping to see the repeated motion of her little finger. Gently pressing his lips against the back of her hand, he breathed in the faint scent of snowdrops.

Her face was as expressionless and pale as before, but when Thorin was about to look away, Carra’s eyes darted about once or twice under her eyelids.

It took him one heartbeat to lean closer toward her; before he knew it, he gave her forehead a soft, lingering kiss. The pain and exhaustion he felt did not matter any longer. Everything besides Carra was of no consequence. His One was still there, and this knowledge imbued him with a new strength.

“Fight, Karkûnê. Do not give up,” Thorin whispered into her ear. “I am here, beside you. Do you hear me, amrâlimê?”

He pressed his forehead against hers in an intimate gesture they exchanged whenever they met. Her skin pleasantly cooled his burning hot forehead while Thorin whispered, “Come back to me, Wings of my heart.”

***

The butterfly circles above the rock basin. Its orange wings flutter gracefully a hairbreadth above the still surface of the water, yet its wings never touch it. Carra cannot seem to tear off her eyes from the afterimages of the spectacle she has witnessed a mere moment ago. More blurred shapes appear in the water, but they are distorted and barely recognizable, fading away quickly.

“Do you see now, Silver One?” The Weaver’s voice fills Carra’s ears. “There are countless possibilities for the thread to run through the loom.”

“But the taint is spreading in the pattern,” the white-haired man, the Water Bearer, says; his words sound hollow. “Everything withers in its wake.”

“There is still hope. Not everything is lost.” The Great Mother walks towards a nearby apple tree. Both its leaves and her gown shimmer in the sunlight. Something tells Carra to follow her creator, and so she does, her legs unsteady.

“Not everything? What about… ” The White Raven’s voice trembles. “Thorin Oakenshield’s life?”

The Great Mother does not reply. Instead, she plucks a large, ripe apple from the tree and smells it with an approving hum.

“Curious creature.” The Water Bearer approaches them from ahead; Carra could have sworn he was behind them merely a moment ago. “Is it the silver dust in your wings speaking or your heart?”

Carra lowers her head—in shame or embarrassment? She does not know which one burns stronger.

She wants to seek redemption—to show that there is still a part of her that is worthy. In fact, she wishes to explain that her question was born solely out of her sense of duty, that her feelings are insignificant, but then her own faint whisper reaches her.

“I speak from my heart,” she says. Always my heart, she thinks.

The Water Bearer and the Green Lady exchange a boundless glance. An eternity seems to pass, as long as one blink of Carra’s eyes.

The Great Mother turns back to her and speaks; a shadow of a smile blooms on her lips, “Then you should already know the answer to this question, my child.”

“I do not understand, Great Mother.”

“Was it not you who alarmed us of the threat to his life?”

Carra recalls the very moment when the Pale Orc attacked Thorin and finds that she does not have the strength to speak. She simply nods as the sense of foreboding tightens its fingers around her throat.

“Your croak echoed so strongly across the tapestry that I almost lost several useful threads!” The Weaver’s voice seems to come from afar, but when Carra turns towards its source, she sees the Weaver standing only a few steps behind her.

“My apologies, my lady,” Carra says faintly. “It was not my intention to cause trouble.”

“Child, you did no such thing. You fulfilled your duty.” The Great Mother shakes her head gracefully, the apple still in her hand. “He is still among the living.”

Something hums in Carra’s ear, and the dread that has been gnawing at her mind finally leaves her; her legs fold beneath her, and she finds herself on the grass, supported by trembling arms. Her heart beats fast, as if after a long run.

Thorin lives. Thorin lives. Thorin lives.

“Thank you, Great Mother.” The world blurs before her, and she needs to wipe away the tears. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You should be thanking yourself, dear child—it has come to pass through your sacrifice.” The Great Mother extends her hand, and Carra takes it tentatively, lifting herself from the ground on unsteady legs.

The Water Bearer steps towards them. His hands are empty. The butterfly is nowhere to be seen.

“And so the line of Durin remains unbroken,” he says. “So does the pattern.” The Weaver’s elegant fingers move along a thick piece of thread. Its colour makes Carra think of the waters of the Long Lake at dawn. “I was almost certain that this thread would be lost to the tapestry forever.”

The three of them exchange a lengthy glance in silence, and Carra wishes she could understand its meaning.

“Forgive me, Great Mother.” Her throat constricts at her own boldness.” But who will watch over Thorin Oakenshield and his kin now that I am gone?”

“The mettle on this one!” The Water Bearer chuckles, but Carra can barely hear him. A strong gust of wind picks up suddenly, making the leaves rustle in the trees around them. As she looks up, the wind brings another sound with it. A low whisper that reverberates in her ears with longing.

“Carra… Please…”

“Thorin?” Her eyes search the beech grove ahead in hopes of seeing her son of Durin, but there are only tree trunks and shrubbery, and the rustling of leaves. Has she imagined hearing his voice?

“Is that…?” There is a hint of amusement in the Water Bearer’s voice. His white hair dances in the wind.

“That silver in her wings…” the Weaver adds, but before she can finish her sentence, another figure appears in the garden, as if out of nowhere. With a few measured strides, he approaches the Great Mother, who offers him the apple she picked before. He takes it, reverently kissing her on her hand. Even though the newcomer is taller than his companions, there seems to be something dwarven about him. Perhaps it is his robust figure or muscular arms, his long hair, brown as elm bark, or perhaps his thick, braided beard; Carra is not certain.

“Husband mine, it is good to see you here,” the Great Mother says.

“I would not have missed it for the world, my dearest.” The man’s voice is as deep as the deepest mines of Erebor.

The wind picks up again, and the rustling intensifies, but the Great Mother’s spouse remains unmoving; even his hair and garments remain still, as if carved out of stone.

“Karkûnê… Come back to me…”

Carra’s searching eyes frantically move from one tree to the next, from one patch of shrubbery to another, but he is not there.

“Thorin!” Helplessly she exclaims towards the sky. “Where are you?”

“You will not find him here, Winged One,” the Great Mother’s husband addresses her. “He is under his Mountain.”

“But I hear him as if he was here!” Carra does not dare to lift her eyes and look into his radiant face.

“The bond between you is as strong as mithril,” he explains.

She opens her mouth to speak, but then she hears the Weaver’s voice.

“So it is mithril, not silver… What are you up to, Smith?” With her brow furrowed, the ethereal lady glances at her loom. “You are not hammering out a new pattern, are you?”

He gives out a short chuckle, “Nothing of the sort, Spinner. This pattern does not need any adjustments on my part.”

“Because you have already made them,” the Water Bearer interjects, once again standing by the rock basin, the silvery jug resting at its edge. When his all-knowing gaze meets hers, Carra wants to disappear.

“A pinch of mithril has never done any harm to anyone.” The Smith takes a step towards Carra. “Has it, Winged One?”

“My lord, I do not comprehend…” she speaks shakily. “I only wish to know if Thorin is going to be safe now.”

There is something benevolent in his expectant gaze. Is he smiling? He has heard her, surely, but he does not address her. Carra does not understand what is expected of her now. A glance passes between the Great Mother and the Weaver, but Carra remains oblivious to it, her attention caught by a new occurrence. The orange butterfly appears in front of her, its wings fluttering, and then it flies off to rest on the folds of the Great Mother’s robes, as if on a flowery meadow. Standing by her husband, she gives a shallow nod.

“So be it, Smith,” the Water Bearer says. 

Carra blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, she stands by the rock basin once more. This time, the water is black and impenetrable, like the sky on a winter night. An image starts forming, but it feels like a mere shadow of the visions she has experienced before.

*** Thorin sits on a gilded stone bench on a high terrace carved out of the slope of the Mountain. A beautifully ornamented walking cane rests against the wall behind him. A thick fur-lined cloak rests on his shoulders, adorned with golden embroidery. His breath turns into mist in the cold air, and several stray snowflakes find their way to his hair, adorned with braids and golden cuffs. His sunken cheeks and pale skin are in stark contrast with the opulence that surrounds him. A guard passes by and salutes him, only to disappear in the bowels of the Mountain.

Time passes as Thorin gazes into the horizon. Although his left arm remains motionless—his left hand clothed in a glove—his right hand reaches under his tunic. Soon, his ringed fingers emerge, holding a silver-white feather. Thorin presses his lips against its tip and closes his eyes for a moment. He whispers something, but his words escape on the wind.

When an elderly Dwarf clad in burgundy robes approaches him, the feather is still in his hand.

“The delegation from the Woodland Realm has arrived, Thorin,” the Dwarf says. “It is time.”“Time, Balin? It feels like mine has already passed,” Thorin replies.

“And yet they say it is time that heals all wounds,” Balin gestures towards the feather.

Thorin rises from the bench with a pained hiss, helping himself with the walking cane. There is a heavy limp in his walk, and as they enter the Mountain, his solemn voice echoes in the corridor.

“But will it heal mine?” ***

“Your Dwarf rules over his kingdom. There is peace and safety for him and his people,” The Green Lady speaks. “Why the tears, my child?” 

Carra brings her fingers to her cheek. It is wet.

“I failed him, Great Mother. He needs me. I should be by his side, not here!” With her vision blurred, she can barely see the four luminous silhouettes standing around her, the expressions on their faces unreadable.

“You are on the path to the Timeless Halls of your winged kin where the reward for your deeds awaits you. You have earned it, Carra.” The Great Mother’s voice is like a sturdy nest shielded from the elements, like a warm blanket on a stormy night.

“I cannot draw joy from such honours. Not when my mate—the one I love—suffers. I’d rather…” She stops, terrified by her own insolence. Nevertheless, Carra has had to speak out. The vision of the terrifying king on the throne of Erebor, cloaked in darkness and blood, has been haunting her since the moment she saw it in the water. But this image was not as horrifying as her sudden realisation. Thorin’s gaze in her most recent vision, bitter and devoid of hope, was disturbingly similar to the darkness in the dragon king’s eyes.

The Smith gives out a lengthy hum. It sounds like a rumble of a distant avalanche.

“What is it that you are saying, child?” The Great Mother stands before Carra now. 

“I do not have the right to ask, Great Mother, but there is no greater reward for me than seeing Thorin contented and at peace,” Carra explains, and there is no doubt nor fear in her voice now because she speaks for Thorin, not for herself, for the one she has been watching over since she can remember. “His past has been filled with hardships. And now he needs joy, not grief, to heal. I will do anything you ask of me, I will serve you for as long as you wish… Please, Great Mother, do not let the darkness consume him. Does he not deserve a long and happy life now?”

“You would relinquish your place in the Timeless Halls for the sake of this Dwarf?” The Weaver inquires. There are several threads in her hand, but Carra does not see their colours.

“For Thorin’s happiness, I would, my lady. As my last gift to him.” Carra swallows. She has just sentenced herself to oblivion, and yet it does not terrify her in the slightest. Only Thorin’s future matters to her, just like it always has.

“Shall we grant her this reward, husband?” The Great Mother turns to the Smith, who looks at a little pebble in his palm, and then tosses it up, catching it in a blink of an eye later.

“Your devotion reminds me of my own children, Winged One,” he declares. “Know that the path you chose is a path of no return. If you take it, the Timeless Halls will not welcome you. You will become like this stone. Stones do not have wings nor do they dream. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she speaks quietly. “This is the path I want to take.”

“Very well,” the Great Mother grants her a smile as warm as a spring day. In her open palm, a flower blooms. Its countless petals are orange, and it smells like fire.

“You have fulfilled your duty as the White Raven, dear child. We shall bestow upon you the reward you have chosen,” she offers Carra the flower in her outstretched hand. “Accept it, if that is truly your choice.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” She touches the flower with her trembling fingers. It feels hard, like a piece of stone. “Thank you, Great Smith…”

As Carra closes her hand over the silky petals, a curtain of darkness falls over her, and it is as if the air disappeared from her lungs. She cannot move; she cannot speak. This must be the end, she thinks, and in the cold stillness of oblivion, a familiar sound reaches her ears.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

The loom resumed its work.

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

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[harrypoppinss]

Empty promises

Kili Durin x afab!reader

Warnings: heavy angst, established relationship, mention of character death, pre BOTFA

Summary: With the battle closing in and Thorin fighting the dragon sickness, you seek comfort in your one.

—————

The past few days have been rough to say the least. You had successfully made it to Erebor, and it has been reclaimed by Thorin the only problem was that he had fallen into the same sickness that his grandfather had. The dragon sickness from the gold that was claimed by Smaug after the fall of Erebor all those years ago.

The Orcs were near, you had a feeling. Thankfully though, Kili had lived through getting a poisoned arrow in his thigh and he was now in Erebor with his brother and the others that had been comforting him through the incident. Now here you were, wandering the halls of Erebor in search for your one.

You had never known a castle to be so confusing until now, but luckily you had spotted your brown haired boy sitting along the gigantic hole in the wall, gazing out at the lost city of Dale. You walked up behind him, before gently taking a seat beside him and like clockwork, his hand found yours.

“How are you feeling my love?” You asked him, being his knuckles up to your lips as you kissed his hand softly before allowing it to fall into your lap, still grasping onto your own. Kili sighed as he moved closer to you, his head finding your shoulder as your head rested on his. “As well as I can,” he said in a soft tone, his gaze not wavering from the empty city infront of Erebor that used to be so full of life and love.

The two of you sat like that in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound reaching your ears was his gentle breathing and the sound of the crickets singing in the tall grass outside. As you gazed out into the landscape, you couldn’t help but let a feeling of pure fear wash over you. Soon you would all be fighting for you life against Azog and his troops for middle earth.

“Amrâlimê?” Kili said in a soft whisper, making you glance at him as he lifted his head off of your shoulder to meet your gaze. “Yes love?” You asked back, your free hand grasping his other one has your thumbs rubbed over his knuckles. His eyes fell to your hands before he lifted then back up to look at you. “Are you afraid to die?” He asked you, catching you off guard completely. You looked at him like he had grown two heads, he had just been on the brink of death with the arrow and he was asking you if you were afraid to die?

“Well…” you said as you looked back out into the now peaceful landscape that you knew would be filled with blood and death soon. Sighing softly you looked back at your lover, a sad expression covering your face. “I am,” you said after a moment, before you brought both of his hands to your lips this time, kissing his knuckles once more. “But, I’m more afraid of losing you to the hands of the Orcs.” You said as you dropped his hands back into your lap as his eyes scanned your face.

“Oh Amrâlimê,” he sighed with a soft smile as he saw the faint tears building in the backs of your eyes. He reached out, bringing you into his chest as his hand ran along your hair gently. You arms wrapped around his neck as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder, the tears fall from your eyes staining his shirt temporarily. “I will never leave you, not in death nor in glory,” Kili whispered to you softly. “I would rather spend a thousand lifetimes fighting for you than allowing myself to be taken away for you in such a way.” He finished, tears of his own spilling down his cheeks as he pulled away from the hug to rest his forehead against your own.

“Promise?” You croaked out, your eyes meeting his brown orbs as you watched the corners of the crinkle softly as he couldn’t help but allow a small smile to overtake his features. “I promise, in this lifetime and the next.” He said, before he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss to your lips. If only he knew in the end, that the promise he made would have to wait until the next time you two meet again, until the next life when your souls will bound together as one again.

———————

Amrâlimê - My love; love of mine